Broken Dolls and Baby Birds
by surrealgreen
Summary: I've added a chapter to Brokend Dolls and Baby Birds. Simoncentric, Action, Mal x Simon, supernatural, and suspense. See individual summaries inside. Warning: rated for slash and a bit of ncs. Hints of the supernatural.
1. Broken Dolls and Baby Birds

This was originally intended to be a somewhat light-hearted action piece with a hint of yaoi, maybe pre-slash Mal/Simon. It kind of wrote itself, though, and is a pretty dark piece. Definitely the darkest I've ever posted (not that I've posted many stories), and way darker than I intended. There still is a good bit of action, but there is also some BDSM and ncs. I don't think it's too graphic, but it's also not for the faint of heart.

That being said, I think it's a pretty good piece. It's still got that bit of Mal/Simon preslash, but nothing specific, and I'm fairly happy with the way it turned out. It has somehow morphed into the first story in a somewhat complicated series, so if you want to read more, let me know.

This was written without the benefit of a beta, so if it doesn't make sense somewhere or you see some other problem, please let me know! I also like getting reviews of all types, so please let me know what you think!

And before I forget, if I actually owned the characters of Firefly, I'd be spending far too much time playing with them to actually get anything written. Don't sue me, I can't afford to pay you. I am not affiliated with Fox, Mutant Enemy, etc…

Any character you don't recognize from the show, I probably made up (Cain, Jimbeam…). I'd like to know what you think about them, too.

* * *

Of Broken Dolls and Baby Birds

_Of Broken Dolls and Baby Birds_

_On Whispered Wings,_

_A Spider pulls the Strings;_

_Till Broken light of day's Last Warmth_

_Doth clear Dark Death's cobwebs,_

_And create Forever Feathered Fire_

_From which Cruel Cold must ebb._

_Baby Birds grow strong_

_And Dolls are put away;_

_With Warmth's sweet kiss,_

_Freedom Flight_

_Meets the brand new Day._

Where once was a Dancing Girl, now was a Broken Doll. A Broken Doll that saw too much; that knew things she shouldn't. A Broken Doll that dreamed Dreams.

_The boy was small and neat. He looked like a china doll and, in an ultimately futile attempt to gain the Parent's love, he acted the part as well. They dressed him up in velvet and silks and told him not to be a Boy. Don't run, don't walk, be seen, not heard. Don't roughhouse, don't laugh. Just learn, and do, and impress. Still, the Boy Doll didn't know how to impress the new Cold Man the Parents brought him to meet. _

_The Cold Man was tall, even taller than Father, and wore a neat navy blue suit. He smiled very little, and when He did smile it was cold and scary. The _

_Boy Doll was on his best behavior, but that didn't seem to be enough this time, nor did his clever young mind. The Cold Man wanted something from him and he couldn't grasp what. After a few moments of confusing talk with the Parents, He did something to him._

_Had he been older, the Boy Doll would have rationalized that the things he felt were nightmare side effects of the mysterious drug the Cold Man pumped into his veins. But he was young enough still that he did not look for the logical explanation. He was young enough to acknowledge that, without moving at all, the Cold Man reached into his mind and touched him there, hurt him there. He was looking for something, and careless about any damage He may have caused. His mental touch was as cold as His smiles. _

_He sensed first His triumph when He found what He were looking for, and then His anger when He examined it closely. His anger eclipsed the world and the Boy Doll passed out from the chill._

_When he woke up, he stayed still and quiet like a mouse, seeking to avoid the predator gaze of the Cold Man. He heard Him talking to the ever-distant presence of the Parents.._

"_He has to be a talent! He was bred…"_

"_He is a talent," the chill of the voice echoed the smile, and the touch, and the anger. "But not a useful one. We are looking for a living weapon, something he can never be."_

"_Then…what is he?"_

"_A healer. We may have use for him one day, so guard him well. But for now, he is useless. We will bind his powers."_

"_We can try again." He sensed the Parents' nervousness and disappointment as they awaited the Cold Man's reply. He was ashamed that he was the source of that disappointment. _

"_One more chance. We've already started assembling the genome. A girl this time."_

"_Thank you!" _

_Inside the Boy Doll cried as he was put on the back shelf in the glass case. The first shelf was prepared for the new doll, and he grew dusty and neglected._

The Broken Doll awoke and remembered the dream. Another memory that was not hers, but this one _could_ be quantified. The Broken Doll cried because she'd never realized that the Boy was a Broken Doll, too.

* * *

Simon and River were not supposed to get off the ship unless told otherwise. For a while, things had been better, but the appearance of Jubal Early had changed that. Now, the Tams were kept like a dirty little secret.

He didn't mind too much; really, he didn't. He knew that the Captain was only looking out for his well-being—and he'd had more than enough experience with dingy bars and crazy hill-folk. But it still gnawed at him to be trapped on the small firefly pretty much all of the time.

He wanted to be able to walk around in the fresh air with River or go shopping with Kaylee and Inara. Most of all, he wished he could help out on jobs. Lifting crates wasn't his forte, nor shooting, but he hated being useless. He wanted to earn his passage. He wanted to make himself indispensable. He wanted the security of knowing that, no matter how crazy River was or how annoying or awkward he knew_ he_ could be, he had a home on _Serenity_. It stung him to think that he was a burden; it frightened him to think that one day he would do or say something stupid and be abandoned.

There was a time when such concerns would never have occurred to him. He was Simon Tam—wealthy, handsome, brilliant, with a future career in medicine that would surely be astounding. His parents doted on him, if in a distant manner, and his sister adored him. And If his intelligence separated him from his peers by assuring that he was always in classes with others who were years older than him—if he always showed those older students up—he was respected.

He had no real friends or girlfriends, but he didn't need them. The girls who approached him were interested in his status, not him, and left him feeling cold. And as for friends—he had the best friend he could ever imagine in his genius little sister.

Between his family and his studies (medicine was so fascinating; when other children were watching the latest vids on the cortex, he was studying medical texts), he was content and secure, if not exactly happy. But his abandonment by his parents had broken that pretty little picture of a life, shattered the illusion and broken something in _him_.

Simon tried to tell himself that by losing everything—money, career, all his expensive _things_, and his distant parents—he'd simply cut the chaff from the wheat. But he hadn't felt safe a single day since his father had, for all intents and purposes, abandoned him. That had been such a surreal moment—his father telling him that he would not come for him again, then asking if he would be coming home as if nothing had changed, as if Simon had been scolded for playing a prank.

So Simon wasn't supposed to leave this ship, not this time, anyway. _Serenity_ was parked at the docks on a little rimworld known as Redwood. Despite its deciduous name, Redwood was not a planet known for its forests or wildlife. Most of the population of Redwood lived in one of three large, dirty cities. They were trade stations for rimworld transports, officially. Unofficially, it was a veritable hive of scum and villainy (1). Pirates, slave traders, and, of course, smugglers put in berth on this world because of its lack of Alliance presence.

So did bounty hunters, hence the Captain's insistence that Simon and River remain on _Serenity_. He also insisted that Inara and Kaylee remain on _Serenity_, but didn't get as far with the two of them.

Inara was a step ahead of him. She had no reason to leave _Serenity_, but did she see fit to leave the ship, Mal certainly couldn't stop her. Or so she had acerbically informed the Captain know.

Kaylee _had_ to leave the ship, she insisted. They desperately needed another…something for the engine, and one good thing about Redwood was its junkyards. So Mal had reluctantly agreed to let Kaylee go straight to the junkyard and straight back, on the condition that Jayne accompany her. He knew that the sweet, pretty mechanic would be like chum in the water to the pirates and slave traders.

Wash and Book had gone together to pick up whatever fresh produce was available; it was determined that they would be safe enough in the open market. Mal and Zoe went to a meeting—the two of them together were tough and imposing enough to be safe from most casual violence.

And so Simon found himself alone in the cargo bay. Inara and River had disappeared into Inara's shuttle long ago, and Simon wasn't invited this time. That probably meant that Inara was dressing River up like a doll—if it was just tea and conversation or calligraphy, he would have been invited, too.

River continually amazed and confused him. One day she was a tough little scamp getting greasy in the engine room with Kaylee, the next playing dress-up and learning to be a lady from Inara. Or maybe that was just women, changing shape everyday.

Simon had wandered around the ship for a while, bored and lonely, before settling down in the cargo bay with a book. It wasn't disobeying the Captain's order: he was still on the ship. At least here he could enjoy the fresh air and the sound of human beings, as obnoxious as some of them were. Sometimes _Serenity_ was just too quiet for him.

The book was a reprinting of an ancient Greek text, half philosophy, half science, and the air was full of the scents of a busy dock. Engine fuel and grease and grilled meat and sweets and unwashed body odor. The first time he'd smelled it on the Eavesdown docks on Persephone he'd nearly been sick. Now he recognized it almost fondly as the scent of possibilities.

As fascinating as the book was, it was the fifth time he'd read it, and he couldn't help but be distracted by the movement on the docks. He found himself drifting further towards the open hatch, playing a game Kaylee taught him. Kaylee had told him that she often found herself people watching when in charge of scouting for passengers. She'd look at their clothes and expressions and body language and try to tell a story about who they were. Kaylee's stories were almost always unrealistically optimistic, but it was an interesting game and it helped the time pass.

Simon was so caught up in watching one man about an hour later that he didn't notice the rough looking fellow who was walking around looking in ships. He didn't see the guy scope out _Serenity_, or even notice when the man leered at him briefly before turning away. He didn't see him wave over two more men and point him out. He didn't notice the three of them at all until they start walking up the ramp into _Serenity_.

When he did notice them, he wasn't sure what to do. Walking into an open hatch uninvited was tantamount to walking in someone's home uninvited, a total breach of propriety. Simon had no authority to let them on, but if the Captain had sent them or they were looking for him, he had no right to kick them off the boat, either. As unsavory as these characters were, Mal had done business with worse. And, Simon had learned, you can't always judge a man's character by his exterior in the black.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" Simon's tone held a note of hesitancy.

"Well, aren't you a polite little thing? I go by Cain, and these are my two associates, Jedediah and Andrew," said the leader of the small pack. He was a tall man with dark hair, swarthy skin, and startling electric blue eyes. He was somewhere in his forties and quite handsome in a devilish way—the kind of man who would be devilish and commanding until he reached some distant point in age and would almost collapse in on himself; the kind of man who rarely reached that distant point in age, dieing a violent death before then.

Unlike his men, who were dressed in little more than rags—tight leather that reminded him of Zoe's body armor, but was less cared for, and flashes of bright silks added on here and there like trophies—Cain wore a nice shirt and vest. Nothing too expensive, but still presentable. He pulled it off with a savoire-faire that made it look almost dashing in a dangerous way. He had a sense of presence, a charisma, that almost reminded Simon of Mal.

"You might say that we're in the business of acquisition and trade. We've come here in hope of making an acquisition." The business like manner put Simon at ease a bit, and he responded the best he could.

"I'm sorry; you'll have to come back later. The Captain's not here right now, and he makes the decisions. If you'd like, I can let him know you stopped by."

"That won't be necessary. You see, we've already seen what we want off this ship, and we can just take it ourselves…too bad your Captain's not here to protect what's his."

Simon knew that understanding people, their expressions and tones, was his weakness, but even he understood the way that Cain was looking at him.

"You're slavers," he said, numb disbelief in his tone.

"Such an ugly word! But, unfortunately, accurate. Come on, now. Let's not cause us any trouble, boy."

Like hell! Simon turned without warning and darted up the ramp into _Serenity_. If he could just get far enough ahead of them, there were a dozen places he could hide, a dozen doors he could lock. Fireflies were designed like small mazes, with hundreds of nooks and crannies to take advantage of. As he reached the dining room, however, he saw something that gave him pause. A bright blue scarf.

He'd seen that scarf before. Just this morning, in fact. Inara had tied it in River's hair, a prelude to their game of dress-up. Just over his own harsh pants, he could hear a quiet breathing. He saw Inara look around the edge of the couch, pained fear in her eyes. His eyes widened and he stopped. He barely had time to meet her gaze and mouth the word 'hide' before they were upon him.

The one called Jedediah hit him first. It was a bit of a surprise because he was a heavyset man. He clearly had powerful arms, but he also had a heavy gut (unusual among spacers, whose most common form of nourishement was protein mush, but not unheard of) and did not look at all fast. But there was no mistaking the sheer size of that heavy body as it rammed up against him, pushing him into the wall and immobilizing him.

For a surreal moment—no matter how long he'd been on the run, moments like these still seemed like something off a vid to him—he stared at a hairy, tattooed arm. Then it wrapped around his throat and he was turned around to see his other two attackers.

Andrew stood looking wiry and rattish, with a maniacal grin and a dark glint in his eye. Cain approached at a more dignified rate, a small smile his only succession to his triumph. For a moment Simon found himself looking to the man for succor, he looked so reasonable. But then he looked in Cain's eye and saw a darkness he's only seen once before.

Not in Mal's eye, as disreputable as he seemed, or even Jayne's, who'd tried to sell Simon in River for money; no, this look he'd seen in the eyes of a Reaver victim they'd rescued from a derelict transport as the man stared out the infirmary window at Inara and Kaylee, murmuring nonsense about cattle and weakness. At the time, Simon hadn't understood what that look meant. It was only later, when the man had mutilated himself and set off on a killing spree, that he realized. That man had looked into the abyss, and the abyss had looked back, and now the abyss was all that was looking.

"Now, little one," Simon bristled a bit at that—he really wasn't _that_ small!—"surely your Captain didn't leave you here all alone? There must be someone else here on this ship. Tell me where they are and you won't be punished for disobeying me."

Like Mal, Cain is so charismatic that Simon found himself wanting to follow his orders. But he swallowed the impulse, lying instead.

"I'm the only one on board." Even Simon thought he sounded unbelievable. He'd never been good with a quick story or lie. If he wanted to get away with something, he had to have planned it out well in advance. So he wasn't too surprised when Cain didn't believe him. The resounding backhanded slap was something of a surprise, though. He was stunned for a moment and tasted the bitter tang of blood from where his lip had been split.

"I can make him talk, Cap'n." Simon could hear the excitement in Jedediah's voice, feel it in the body pressed up behind his. He wasn't sure if it was him that turned the man on or the violence, but both possibilities left him feeling sick.

"No use damaging the goods, Jed. We've got what we came for. Let's get while the gettin's good." Cain turned and resolutely walked away.

At that Jedediah started pulling Simon back towards the open cargo bay, Andrew following close behind. Simon struggled as much as he could, but the man didn't even seem to notice.

When they reached the cargo bay, Simon intensified his struggles enough to make the men pause. Cain turned in irritation.

"We don't have time for this nonsense." The voice, which had been warm and deep earlier, had turned cold and deadly. Pulling a gun out of some pocket or the other, the slaver walked up to Simon and knocked him smartly on the head with the butt of the weapon. Stars swam before his eyes and Simon distantly felt himself slung over the big man's shoulder before inky blackness covered his sight and he lost consciousness.

* * *

"Well, Zoe, I know you've got something to say, so say. Don't just look at me." Mal hated it when she did that. Most people would have said that she didn't show much expression, but when you'd been around her long enough you got to where you could read her nuances of stoicism, and it was all manner of irritating.

"It's been a while since we been paid, Sir. And these people could use our help."

"So you think we shoulda taken the job?"

"Ain't sayin so, Sir. Just ain't sayin' not."

"Zoe, we have three strong fighters. Four, if you count the shepherd, but he's not really interested in joinin' in fights. The rest of our ship is all talent and civilians. Not a one of 'em would be helpful to us in this endeavor. They'd just slow us down and be in danger. An' you, me, 'n Jayne may be mighty good with our guns, but I don't rightly know that we could take down a whole shipload of slavers."

"You're right, Sir."

"But?"

"But slavery just don't sit well."

"No, it don't, does it." Mal knew he had that look on his face, the one that said he was thinking too much about things he couldn't change, but that didn't make it any easier to wipe off. Truth was, he wished like hell he could stop those slavers. And he considered taking the job, he really did. Not that he thought much of them as offered the job.

The Mayor of this particular little bit of hell hosted slavers and pirates all the time and never thought twice 'til it started bein' a problem for_ him_. Now, all the sudden, some slaver or the other had started stealin' folks right from the streets of the city—locals, tourists, other spacers, it didn't seem to matter, except that they were pretty or useful. They did it real quiet-like, too. There was always a brawl or escaped slave loose somewhere in the city, and the kidnappers just managed to fit right in so's that no one knew that someone'd been kidnapped until someone else came lookin' for 'em.

When rumor had gotten around, spacers had stopped docking and the city started taking a loss of more than the occasional citizen. That's when Mayor Greenwich had stepped forward and started looking for someone to catch the 'bandits' as he called them. Man didn't want to admit he'd taken serpents to his breast and one of them bit him.

Now, it wouldn't have been the first time the crew of _Serenity_ had gone after bandits; truth was, there was all sorts of things they could do that weren't apparent to the untrained observer. But Mal wasn't kidding when he said he didn't think they were equipped for this job. They had no way of knowing who the slavers were, how many there were, or what their capabilities were. Going after them on their own would have been beyond stupid. Still, like Zoe said, it just didn't sit well.

For her part, Zoe was beginning to regret she'd said anything. She knew Mal didn't like slavery any more than she did—less, maybe. And now he had that expression on his face, the one where he was thinkin' how disappointing his life had turned out.

Every time he wore that expression he lost just a little bit more of that strange innocence he had. It was a kind of innocence not born of ignorance or naiveté, but rather of an inherit nobility that the 'verse couldn't seem to knock out of him no matter how hard it tried.

Both their hearts lifted a bit when they reached the ship and home (_sanctuary_), then plummeted around to their feet when they entered the common room and saw a tearful Inara trying to comfort River, who was keening softly.

"What happened? Where's the Doc? He wasn't supposed to leave the boat, gorammit!"

"Some men came on the boat, they took him. Mal, he's been kidnapped!" Inara's vaunted composure was stretched to the breaking point between her very real worry for Simon and her unsuccessful attempts to calm a hysterical River.

"Again! What is it with that boy?"

"Mal! It isn't his fault!"

"The hell it ain't!"

"Was it Alliance?" Zoe cut in.

"No. I didn't get a good look at them, but they definitely weren't the law, or anyone official for that matter."

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin', Sir?"

"Those damn slavers."

"Slavers!"

"Turns out this city's been havin' a problem with them snatching people lately," Zoe explained.

"Mal, we have to do something!"

"WHAT, Inara! We don't know who or where they are. And it's not the first time the little idiot's gone and gotten himself kidnapped! He should have just stayed out of sight—"

"He had no way of knowing what was going on, Sir. We didn't tell him to hide." Was Zoe takin' the doc's side now?

"We shouldn't have had to! This can't just keep happenin', and I'm tired of having to ride to that boy's rescue!"

"It wasn't his fault Mal—"

"Wasn't his fault!"

"He could have gotten away."

"What was that?"

"He could have gotten away! He could have gone through the galley and hidden in any of a dozen places, he's been here long enough to find a few. But we were in here, and we wouldn't have gotten away. Maybe River could have… _I_ wouldn't have gotten away. He let himself get caught so they wouldn't find us."

Mal closed his eyes. Inara probably would have lied for Simon's sake—she'd taken to the Tams like a mother lion to a pair of stray cubs—but he didn't think she was. It was true enough, there was no way Inara could have run in the tight-fitting silk number she was wearing, and Simon had just enough of that stupid kind of bravery to let himself be taken to protect River and Inara. Damn it. In a way it was a kind of bravery he could respect, for he'd have done the same thing. As little as he may have liked the boy sometimes, he respected him.

_Damn_! No member of his crew should have to sacrifice himself to save others, especially not one of the talent! Inara and Kaylee and Wash and River and, yes, Simon—they were the noncombatants on the crew, the civilians, that part of Mal that would always be a soldier insisted. They were part of the crew; integral, even, but they had no place puttin' themselves in danger. Simon wasn't even a fighter (Mal knew for sure, he'd seen the boy try). What would he do now?

"Zoe, get on the comm. And call the others back. We need a plan."

* * *

Simon never really woke up well. He always had a moment of disorientation when he didn't know where he was or why he was there. All that was really different this time is the moment didn't go away. He remembered the slavers, and getting knocked over the back of the head, but he didn't remember how it was he ended up…here.

It wasn't at all what he'd expected to see. It wasn't a small, bare cell or a large one crowded with other victims. Instead it was a rather nice medium-sized room. He was on a large bed covered in soft black sheets and pillows. The furniture was expensive—real wood and leather. It was an attractive room in a masculine fashion. Happily, he was still fully clothed, though his shoes were missing.

Turning a little more he saw a mirror on the wall and gazed at his own reflection. It surprised him as much as the room. No, more. It had been months since he'd taken the time to look at his reflection. He didn't have a mirror in his room, and hadn't missed it. Appearance had never been especially important to him, as long as he was presentable. Hence the vests and suits he preferred. As long as the colors didn't clash, he had an automatic uniform that save him from having to worry about clothes.

As he spent time on _Serenity_ the only thing about that that had changed was the fact that he'd run out of nice clothes—his suits hadn't really been designed for the kind of wear and tear they saw in space, nor for constant use of the same five outfits. The only thing that had really survived were his pants. The vests had fallen apart firsts, and then the shirts had worn thin (not to mention the bloodstains—he'd learned the hard way to buy dark colored clothes). And his hair—well, it had grown and he'd not worried much about it.

He had thought that he'd look older. After all, he now wore homespun, second hand sweaters and had ragged hair to match the much rougher, tougher life he'd grown accustomed to. No more clean little boy, dressed up like a toy soldier to be carefully kept in a glass case. But, he found instead that, if anything, he looked younger.

The sweater, like most of those he owned these days, was much too large on him and emphasized his smallish stature, stature that only seemed smaller since he'd lost weight. Not that he'd had much to lose, just the 10-15 pound difference between a life where gourmet food was always just waiting for him to request it and a life where 90 of his sustenance consisted of processed protein. Still, it was amazing the difference 10 pounds could make.

His hair tumbled boyishly over his face and had, due to lack of sunlight, darkened from dark sable to an inky black, which only emphasized his skin, always fair but now truly lily-white, also from lack of sunlight.

He'd thought losing the veneer of civilization had made him look tougher, but it had only highlighted his vulnerability, made him look even younger than his twenty-three years.

Simon closed his eyes and tried to steady himself. He felt so disconnected from who he was used to being, the civilized Dr. Tam, and didn't recognize the person he was becoming. But this was no time to worry about his hair or clothes or identity; he had to get out of here. When he tried to stand up, he realized that he was a little concussed. Otherwise he'd have surely have noticed the restraint on his left ankle, securely attached to the bed. He wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

The rest of the crew had taken it about as well as expected. Kaylee did that horrified, high-pitched, not-quite-crying thing she did, Book got all grim, and Wash went into super-worrier mode. Jayne, predictably, was not at all upset.

"Hell, Mal, ain't he used up his quota o' rescues yet? Let 'em go."

"Jayne, you don't have to participate in a rescue if'n you don't wanna. Just means larger shares of the take for the rest of us."

"Wuzzat?"

"Well, it seems that these slavers have snatched a lot of folk and the Mayor of this lovely little cesspool would like to hire us to stop 'em. Now, I told him no earlier on account of I wasn't plannin' on doin' it. But we'll probably have to take these guys out one way or the other to get Simon back, so's we might as well get paid."

"How much we talkin' here, Mal?"

"Do you really think we can take out a whole shipload of slavers?"

"That's crazy, Mal!"

"We gotta hurry!"

"QUIET!" Mal's voice rang out over the ruckus. "I just told you what's happenin'. The job pays fifty thousand platinum, so decide if you're in or out Jayne. Everybody else, start planning on how we're gonna find Simon and rescue him. Zoe, you're with me. Let's go get paid."

* * *

The hiss of an automatic door opening awoke Simon from his doze. He hadn't meant to fall asleep—he wanted to be prepared for whatever happened next, not to mention he could have a concussion—but there had been very little else to do shackled as he was to the bed, barely able to move a full meter from the bedpost.

Simon looked up blearily (trouble waking up, could definitely be a concussion) and saw a tall, broad shouldered figure in the doorway. A moment later the figure entered the room and the door closed behind it. With the backlighting from the hallway gone, Simon got a good look at the man's face and recognized Cain.

The Captain of whatever vessel he was in, presumably. The man was now dressed in a more relaxed outfit consisting of casual dress pants, much like Simon wore, and a wool sweater that was stretched taut over his shoulders. Once again Simon was struck by how innocuous the man looked. His outfit, posture, and easy confidence spoke of upper-middle class at least and hid the inherent danger of his sheer size and musculature. He looked to be nearly as tall as Jayne, and just a bit less muscular, though still formidable.

"Good evening, sleeping beauty. I was a little concerned you wouldn't wake up. Afraid I hit you too hard." Cain's voice was deep and warm again, the inviting tones of a man made for public speech. He reminded Simon of a Professor he'd once had. The man had been handsome and athletic and smart. Like most of his students, Simon had had a huge crush on the man for a while. "Sorry about that, by the way, but I couldn't have you making such a huge scene on the docks. I do hope you're feeling better."

For a moment Simon considered that he had misjudged the man before; that the dangerous darkness he'd glimpsed in the Cain's eyes was a figment of his imaginations. But, no, he reminded himself. This man had kidnapped him off the ship. Simon looked him right in the face and sought his eyes, looking for that madness and refusing to show his fear.

"What do you want with me?"

"Hmm, that is the question. There's no doubt you're a pretty creature, Angel. All that dark hair and pale skin, and your blue, blue eyes—not to mention that mouth. But we have prettier than you in our hold. So why do you catch my attention so much?" Cain paused a moment as if to ponder. "Maybe its your manners—so polite! Or your diction. I've never known anyone outside of the core to enunciate so well. But, no, I don't think its any of that. I think its your fear."

"My fear?" Simon was a bit offended. True, he was afraid, but wouldn't anyone be?

"Let me explain. Everybody's afraid of something, and anyone who isn't dead inside or just plain stupid would be afraid in your position. But its so rare to find that perfect combination of fear, vulnerability, and strength. Don't get me wrong, fear in any form is fun. Sharp, hysterical fear is like candy; angry, in-denial fear is meaty, like a good steak; fear that is leeching into despair is a dark chocolate; but that fear that is a perfect combination is ambrosia.

"It's a beautiful culmination of strength and weakness, something that can not be created or copied. And it is very, very rare. I've only seen it twice before: once in a Priest and again in a Companion. Priests find strength in their faith; Companions are trained to inner-strength from a young age. Yet neither are hardened against life; against fear."

Cain's smiled. It was a terrifying sight, not because it was grotesque or cruel, but rather because it looked almost kind. Set below soulless eyes it was a mockery of true kindness.

"You have that kind of strength. It's a light of purity, purpose, in your eyes. It allows you to hold back your fear not through bravado, but through pure will. It allowed you to sacrifice yourself to save the two women who were on your ship." Cain smirked at Simon's surprise.

Simon drew back as Cain approached the bed. Bending over effortlessly, the larger man gently cupped Simon's cheek in his palm. "But that fear is still there, will always be there, because it is not in you to push it aside. To harden your heart."

"It's…intoxicating. It has been so long since I've seen that look, and I have missed it. You see, the only thing more intoxicating that that look is the process of breaking it. There is a beauty in the breaking that cannot be described.

"It took me a year to break the Priest. He died cursing his god. The Companion, she lasted for three years. I was impressed. Eventually, though, that look did die, even if she didn't. I sold her, of course. She was still a beauty. Fetched quite a nice price. Now I am wondering how long _you_ will last."

Cain leaned forward to kiss Simon. Simon quickly turned his head and soon after felt the soft pressure of Cain's lips on his cheek. Instead of looking angry, Cain seemed amused. He chuckled quietly to himself before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

"See you soon, Angel."

* * *

For Inara, the horror of Simon's capture was threefold. Worry for Simon, of course, was the first horror. She'd heard stories about those who'd been captured by slavers and the things that happened to companions when they were beyond the long reach of the guild. Ophelia, a friend she'd been close to in the training house, had been captured in a sadly similar situation; she'd survived, but was never again the same. She'd been terrified, unable to stand being touched, even by old friends or family.

The second horror was River. Inara didn't know how the poor girl would survive without her brother. The Companion had never before realized just how erratic River was. One minute she'd be weeping inconsolably, the next screaming in terror. She ranted, she raved, she cursed and hurled things. The soothers helped, but they couldn't drug the girl indefinitely. Eventually she would exhaust herself and fall into fitful dozes broken by sad crying and calling for her brother. It pushed the Companion to her limits and she knew that if they were unable to save Simon, they would lose River as well.

The third horror was a secret horror that she tried to ignore, for she couldn't banish it and knew it served no useful purpose. It was the horror of guilt. If she had just stayed in her shuttle for five more minutes…five more minutes. It was amazing the difference such a slender finger of time could make. Five more minutes and Simon would have had time to hide. Five more minutes and the slavers would have left empty handed. Five more minutes and this never would have happened.

She knew, of course, that it was not her fault, but guilt is not an emotion dictated by logic. At fault or not, the guilt remained. A useless emotion in this case, for she could not apologize to River without adding to the girl's burden.

River knew, of course. By the second day she was angry at her captivity, and struck out to hurt her captor—Inara.

"It's your fault! It's _your_ fault! _YOU_ wanted to go to the galley, _YOU_ were hungry, _YOU_ were wearing a dress you couldn't run in! He got caught to protect _YOU_! _I_ could have run! _I _could have hidden!"

Inara's breath caught in her throat. She could not deny the truth of the statement, as unfair as she knew it to be. But she had to stay calm and be in charge. That was the best way for her to help River and, through helping the girl, help Simon. So she soothed and protected the girl as much as she was able. It was a tiring process, even if River did apologize later for her harsh words. Was it any wonder she eventually passed out from sheer exhaustion?

River knew she had to work quickly. Since Simon had been taken by the slavers she'd been watched constantly by the crew. They meant well, but they kept doping her. True, she'd been hysterical the first day, but now she knew what needed to be done. Luckily for her, the others hadn't realized the tolerance she had for smoothers and had doped her too lightly. Simon would have known.

Stealthily slipping from Inara's room, River began collecting the things she needed. In an earlier time, she would have been taught this by her mother and her mother's mother. Now, all she had was instincts to go on. Fortunately River's instincts were much better than the average person's, and she wasn't held back by a need to make things rational; she trusted her inner voice.

First, since she was there, she took a small sprig of Inara's precious preserved mountain laurel, a reminder of Earth-that-Was. Next she pilfered the Shepherd's spices for rosemary and sage. Finally, most important of all, she pulled several thick dark hairs from Simon's brush. She wove them into a small rope and tied it around the spices and laurel. Slipping into the infirmary, she used a scalpel to prick her finger, letting the blood drop onto the small sachet. There, the first part was done.

The second part was trickier. It would take some time and have to be done in the kitchen, a well used area even in the middle of a sleep-cycle. She would just have to be quick as she could. She was lucky; she managed to get most of it done before the Captain wondered in, attracted by the scent of the burning sachet. She quickly finished, whispering as quickly as she could as Mal stood there gaping—_this is the time, this is the hour; ours is the gift, ours is the power_. (2) Then she smiled at the Captain in weary pride. The rest was up to Simon now. River passed out.

* * *

Simon felt…better. Lighter. It was odd. If he'd been on _Serenity_ he would have given himself a check-up to see if he'd somehow ingested some kind of upper. As it was, he had little time to ponder this weird feeling. He was too busy trying to stay sane and strong until the others came for him.

It was very important he stay strong (_you ain't weak, and that ain't nothing_). He _had_ to believe that _Serenity_ would come for him; that the Captain would come for him (_you're on my crew_). He couldn't give in. River would need him when he got back. And, given their track record, someone on the crew would be hurt soon if they hadn't been already. He had to stay strong—ironic that it was that very strength that attracted Cain like a shark to blood.

The man was hard to figure out. First that frightening little speech about fear, then he'd come in later with a wonderful dinner—the best Simon had in months—and made pleasant dinner conversation, calling him 'Angel' all the while. The man had never even asked his name. Simon had almost forgotten his situation again. Cain's speech was hypnotic in its melody.

"I find I enjoy most dishes just a bit rare. It enhances the natural flavor. So many people these days just sere meat until it is nearly charred."

"It's because of bacteria…the potential bacteria found in some meats. Some worlds have been known to have…quirks…where simple bacteria such as salmonella had mutated into a very virulent, dangerous form. Cooking the meat well is safer." The doctor in Simon came to the fore.

"But I prefer a bit of danger when seeking business and pleasure," Cain smiled a darkly sensual smile that, in any other situation, Simon would have considered flirtatious. "What do you think of the wine?"

In a way, Cain reminded Simon of Early. He was intelligent and given to thought-provoking statements, like Early. And, like Early, his mood was changeable and unpredictable. Early had been frightening, 'creepifying', even, because of his tendency to ramble on about harmless subjects right before he threw in the most horrifying sentences said in the most eerily conversive way, as if he was discussing the weather (_have you ever been raped, have you ever been shot?_).

After dinner Cain suddenly crowded him, reminding him that he was a prisoner. The man's much larger body move close to his, intimidating him but never quite touching him. Simon quickly backed up, but Cain followed him until he was backed into a corner. The man had smiled a predatory smile, all lust and amusement and something else Simon couldn't name. Simon tensed, for an assault, flinching a bit when Cain leaned forward and rested his hand on the wall just by Simon's head. They stayed in that tableau for several moments before Cain and just stared at each other, a snake and a bird caught up in the hypnotic dance of predator and prey.

Cain held his gaze for a moment longer, then stood up and walked over to the comm.. Simon let out a sigh of relief.

"Driton, get in here," Cain spoke coldly into the comm..

The door open and a man walked in. He wore mismatched leathers as Jedediah and Andrew had and a sneer. He seemed to be very much cut from the same cloth as the other two lackeys.

"Take my…guest…to the wash room. He needs to freshen up. Oh, and make sure he returns in one piece," this last statement was added on as if an afterthought, but the coldness in which it was said was deadly.

The guard leered and made free with his hands, but did not truly molest Simon. It was clear that only fear of Cain restrained him, though. Simon did not know whether to find that comfort or a warning.

The halls of the ship did not echo the comfort of the room. They were cold and dark, dingy and disreputable. They lacked to warm, lived-in feeling of Serenity's hallways. Instead they seemed almost clinically cold, but lacked any clinical sterility. It was clear that they were not regularly cleaned, and from what he saw of the crew, that was no great surprise. They seemed to be mostly mercenaries, men like Jedediah and Andrew and Driton. Luckily, he only saw a few of them. The way those few leered at him left him feeling naked and dirty.

The washroom was small and dingy, as well, but at least marginally cleaner than the hallways. He'd taken a quick sponge bath, paying particular attention to the painfully lump on his head where he'd been struck. He would have liked to scrub himself clean several times over, but worried that Driton would come and 'check' on him if he took too long.

When he'd returned to the room, he'd found Cain already dressed for bed. Simon steeled himself for another invasion of space, but Cain barely seemed interested in him. He ordered Simon to the bed, but only in order to chain him to it again. Once Simon was chained, Cain walked to the far side of the bed and situation himself.

"I suggest you get comfortable. Lights out."

Simon let the surprise show on his face in the darkness. Gingerly, he lay down on his side, facing away from Cain. He let out a small mewl of shock when the man's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close to the hard body behind him. He held still in Cain's arms, waiting to see what would come next, but apparently that was all Cain intended for this night. They slept like that, with Cain holding Simon gently as a lover.

The next morning, Simon awoke from an erotic dream to find the source of his arousal—Cain's hands on him. The hands on his body were gentle but strong, insistent, and firm. The goaded his body on more surely than the few clumsy tries he'd made with his own hands. He was hot and cold at the same time, his breathing quickened and his heart rate. He hated it, hated that it was Cain making him feel this was. He struggled, but it was too late. He was too close to the edge and Cain was much too strong for him. Simon climaxed moments before the larger man, who was thrusting rhythmically against him. The heat of orgasm rushed through his body and he tingled all over for just a moment. It was as if all his nerve ending were alive and madly sending out signals.

As he climaxed, Cain bit into Simon's neck hard enough to draw blood. It had _hurt_. The neck was a rather innervated area, and especially sensitive in Simon's case. Yet a part of him recognized it as an ancient, primeval manner of claiming, of dominance, and shivered in welcome. He cried out at the commingling of pain and pleasure.

Later Cain cleaned the bloody wound tenderly. Simon hated himself for cringing away from the touch. Cain simply smiled before leaving to see to his duties. It was humiliating.

Later that day Cain had entered the room and, without preamble, hit Simon. He'd beaten the smaller man ruthlessly, focusing most of the blows on his upper torso—painful, but not especially dangerous. The organs were protected by his ribs, and it was unlikely any permanent harm was done. Still, it was rather traumatic for Simon (who could count the number of times he'd been beaten on one hand) and left a colorful array of painful bruises.

Afterwards Cain had held him carefully and cooed at and petted him, praising him for taking the beating. The petting had taken a heavy tone and he'd once again fondled Simon. Every time Simon protested or attempted to escape, Cain had put painful pressure on his bruises.

Simon came amidst a barrage of pain and pleasure and was helpless to stop the tears from falling from his eyes when Cain bit him again. When Cain had put Simon's hand on the larger man's erection, Simon struggled again. Cain did not force the issue, just gave his familiar amused chuckle and left Simon to his own devices for a while.

Simon cursed himself more than Cain. Cain was a monster, and simply acted according to his nature. But what was wrong with Simon that he responded the way he did? Simon had little experience in matters of the flesh. In high school he'd been too young, graduating at fifteen. In Medacad he'd been too focused, not to mention years younger than his peers (only sixteen when he started). At the hospital he'd been too dedicated, first to his patients and later to his sister.

He'd always secretly wondered if something was wrong with him. He simply didn't feel the urges that strongly, not like others had described them. The secret fear had only been supported in his time on _Serenity_.

He couldn't understand the easy sensuality that Zoe and Wash shared, or the spiritual carnality of Inara. Kaylee's way of embracing sex as a healthy, wholesome part of life left him stuttering and shy. Even Jayne grasped this thing easier than he. The only ones on board who seemed to share his somewhat puritanical views on sex were the Shepherd and, oddly enough, the Captain.

What was wrong with Simon that he was left cold by Kaylee's glances and innuendos, but was putty in Cain's hands? Was he perversely turned on by the pain? How could he stop this thing before it became too much; before he would never be able to look River in the eye again?

As a doctor, Simon should have realized that his body's reactions to Cain's stimulation was instinctive and reflexive and not at all his fault. He would have been the first to assure any other rape victim that it wasn't _their_ fault. But he was too close, he couldn't see it. His shame ate at him as strongly as his fear.

Cain, of course, knew all of this. It was how he planned it. Pain alone could break a person if pushed far enough. But combining pain and pleasure did more than break a person; it twisted them. If he was careful he could keep this one years before he broke him, slowly twisting until he cracked. That strength Cain so admired would become a weakness. The boy would force himself to stay strong, not to break, prolonging his own agony and Cain's enjoyment.

His Angel would be enslaved to Cain not only physically, but mentally when he blamed himself for his reactions and came to see Cain as his salvation and protection. Building a new identity was key to this plan; hence the new name. He didn't particularly care what or who his Angel had been before; he was becoming Cain's, completely. It was beautiful. It was inevitable.

Cain's ship was named the _Narcissus_, in honor of his long-dead younger brother, who always told Cain that he was a narcissistic ass. On the outside it was a clean, respectable looking ship. On the inside it was only clean and respectable-looking in four places: Cain's room, the engine room, the bridge, and the cargo bay.

He let the crew have the run of the rest of the ship. He wanted his men hard, cruel, so he encouraged their greed and anger. When fights broke out, the winner was rewarded, no matter what the cause. There was no right and wrong, only strong and weak. No matter what anyone said, that was the way the 'verse worked.

Cain's room was his sanctuary, and kept neat to his own standard of comfort. The bridge, likewise, was his workspace. The engine room was arguably the most important room in the ship and he would not have its efficiency ruined by a mess. As for the cargo bay, well, that was where the 'livestock' was carried.

It was rather ingenious if he did say so himself. For a one-time expense (and it had been expensive) one wall of the cargo bay was lined with cryo-chambers stacked three high. The upkeep of the chambers was surprisingly cheap and he never had to worry about feeding and clothing the cargo—or resistance, for that matter. The cargo bay could house fifty slaves, holding a nice-sized chunk of change considering the type of victim he chose.

The only drawback was the crew's displeasure at all those potential victims locked safely away. It was better for profits, but worse for moral. So Cain always picked up two or three strays not useful or pretty enough to make much profit and let the crew have their fill of them.

It was economical because not only did it keep the crew quiet, it helped him weed out the weak. Those who showed pity or kindness to the 'goats' would soon find themselves the victim's of Cain's seemingly random violence. That violence provided the rest of the crew motivation to obey him: fear. It was not the intoxicating fear of the pure, like his Angel's fear, but it suited him fine.

As for his Angel, Cain was very happy with the way things were going. The boy's shock at his own sensuality, the painful confusion in those solemn blue eyes was invigorating and arousing. Soon, Cain would take him fully, but for now the boy's innocent reactions plus the heady feel of sheer anticipation would serve to keep him satisfied. For now.

* * *

On _Serenity_, things were not going well. They'd accepted the job, but it wasn't as easy as all that. Before they could make a plan to take out the slavers and save their own wayward lamb, they had to _find_ the slavers.

Kaylee, Wash, and Book had been at the cortex near non-stop, trying to figure out which of the ships docked on the day Simon had been kidnapped could be the slaver. It was an exhausting process. Kaylee was looking at the ships' build, trying to figure out which could be outfitted to house slaves. Wash and Book were comparing berth dates with the dates some of the missing were reported.

It was not an easy task. It was hard to know how a ship could be outfit knowing only what type of ship it was, and not all the kidnapped had been reported and, most likely, not all of the disappeared folk had been kidnapped by the slavers.

Mal, Zoe, and Jayne were out scouring the city for word of the kidnappers and talking to the families of local victims. Inara was given the job of watching River, as this was one situation where her extensive contacts would be little use.

On the third day, they got lucky. Mal found a group of street children who had seen one of their own get kidnapped.

"Yessir, Jimbeam, he was just a sittin' there, not doin' nuffin. This fancy lookin' fellow walked right up to 'em and grabbed his arm and just started haulin' him away! Jimbeam, he makes a fuss, ya know, but nobody cares! Man just starts talkin' 'bout street thugs pickin' his pocket, and people let 'em drag Jimbeam away. Only, Jimbeam wasn't pickin no pockets that day, I swears it! I saw the whole thing!"

Mal stared down at the small, dirty boy. No more than eleven, and he'd seen one of his friends kidnapped by slavers, most like never to be seen again. Hell, he'd probably seen much worse.

"Can you describe the fancy lookin' fellow for me?"

"He wuz tall! Taller'n you, even. He was real nice-lookin', too and he wore good dudds. Nice pants, button-up shirt, even a vest! He had dark hair and he looked real fit. 'Sall I saw."

"Thank you, kid."

"You gonna get Jimbeam back, mister?"

"We'll try," was all Mal could promise, biting back a wince. That boy probably wasn't ever coming back.

"So he's kidnapping street kids to sell, too?" asked Jayne. Jayne wasn't the most sensitive or nice guy around, but he hated when people did stuff to kids. It was just wrong.

"No, Jayne," Zoe said in a quiet, deadly voice.

"Whatcha mean? This someun' else, then? Why we wastin' our time?"

"What she meant, Jayne, is that he probably didn't take the kid to sell. All his other victims were highly skilled or attractive or somethin'. Sell high-price slaves and he don't have to kidnap so many at once and still makes a mint. Street kids can't be goin' for much, though. They ain't got no skills and ain't generally the kind of pretty one looks for in a pleasure slave."

"Why's he stealin' 'em, then?"

Mal's jaw tightened and he didn't answer, so Zoe answered for him in that deadly tone of voice she used when she was wishin' she could shoot someone.

"For the crew. Crew of a slaver's bound to be all types of nasty. Gotta get 'em somethin' to distract from the rest of the slaves, or they'll go damaging the property."

"You mean…"

"Yeah, Jayne. That's what she means." Mal's tone matched Zoe's.

Jayne got real quiet, thinkin'. That wasn't something he could rightly abide by. Jayne wasn't saying that slavin' was alright, but it was one thing to kidnap a doctor and sell him as a doctor. He'd still be doctorin' folks, just not makin' as much money. But to kidnap a kid just so's the crew could hurt 'em? It was beyond Jayne to understand that level of cruelty.

When he mentioned his thoughts out loud, the Captain and Zoe gave his dark looks. "What?"

"How do you suppose they knew he was a doctor, Jayne?" Zoe asked quietly. Jayne was quiet as the import of that statement sunk in.

Mal was quiet, too. He was always upset when a member of his crew was hurt, but hadn't expected to be this upset about Simon. He missed the boy, which was odd, considerin' he didn't much like him. But miss the boy he did.

He missed his quiet smile, so rare, and his sharp tongue. Boy could flay someone alive with that tongue in the right mood. The only other person Mal had ever known with quite that much talent was Inara, and she'd had all sorts of schoolin' in it. It seemed to be a natural talent with Simon. And normally, it left Mal all manner of irritated. But he'd give just about anything right now to have Simon insult him, or say something perfectly polite in that you're-an-idiot tone of voice.

He missed the boy fussing over his sister, and anyone else with the least little medical problem. He missed the quiet intelligence and solemn blue eyes. He wanted it all back, and, by God, he'd get it back.

When they reached _Serenity_ they told the others their news, although they didn't share the implications of the boy's plight with Kaylee. Book and Wash picked up on it quickly, Mal could tell, but there was no need for lil' Kaylee to know.

"Well, we have a vague description. At least that's something!" chirped Wash, trying to lighten the mood.

"He killed his brother and cursed God. He killed the Echo and bloomed white. He'll eat the fruit of the Gods and leave us with nothing."

The whole room turned and looked at River in surprise. She had managed to sneak into the room without anyone being aware she was there. On the bright side, she looked much better. She was back to normal crazy it looked like, not hysterical or screaming or burning weird things crazy.

"River!" Inara burst into the room looking as harried as Mal had ever seen her. She wore little make up, her hair was frizzy, and her dress was rumpled. The past couple of days had been very hard on her. She'd learned a new respect for Simon, seeing how hard it was to take care of a willful and upset River.

"How's the watchin' goin', 'Nara?"

"Shut up, Mal. River, honey, lets get you something to eat then go back to the shuttle."

"No! I can help!"

"River, best listen to Inara."

"Actually, Captain, I think she can help." Everyone turned to look at Book in surprise. Book himself was looking down at the cortex screen.

"How so?"

"We have agreed that the girl is a reader, and she's especially close to her brother. Maybe she's picked up on something. I know she's trying to tell us something."

"What is that?"

"'He killed the echo and bloomed white'. Do you know the myth of Narcissus and Echo, Captain?"

"Myths are your specialty, not mine." There was no doubt that the preacher's know-how was useful, but he could be awful lectury about doling it out.

"Narcissus ignored the nymph Echo, who was in love with him. She pined away until she died from his neglect. As punishment, the gods made him fall in love with himself until he pined away looking at his own reflection in a pool of water. In honor of his beauty, a white flower grew where he died, the flower called narcissus."

"That's fascinating, Shepherd, but why—"

"There just happened to be a ship called the _Narcissus_ docked here when Simon was kidnapped."

The room was silent for a moment.

"Could be a coincidence," Zoe put in.

"Perhaps, but it says here that the Captain's name is Cain. In the bible parable, Cain kills his younger brother out of jealousy—though I don't recall him cursing God. Still, it's a big coincidence."

"Ain't it, though. Kay, people, lets see what else we can find out about Cain and the _Narcissus_."

* * *

The third day after his capture—Simon assumed anyway; he was only able to count days by meals since he had barely left the room—Simon found himself wearing a leash and collar. Apparently Cain had decided that 'his Angel' was getting lazy. So Simon found himself forced into a plain leather collar and lead by a leash wherever Cain went.

It was a humiliating, frightening experience. The crew leered and skulked. One man even grabbed him, forcing Simon against the man's much larger body. Simon felt a rush of shame at the relief he experienced when Cain had punched the man viciously.

The morning was, fortunately, not as bad as he'd thought it would be. After walking the gauntlet to get to the bridge, he was happy to find that Cain meant to spend most of the day there. It was clean and quiet and the bridge crew—a pilot, the first mate, and a tactical officer—was more respectful than the bulk of the crew.

Simon was tethered to the Captain's chair and ignored. The buzz of conversation flowed around him and he vaguely recognized terms about destination and speed and the engine. Even his humiliation couldn't keep him from first becoming bored and then eventually dozing off.

He woke to the pleasant feeling of a gentle hand stroking through his hair and leaned into it. Mother used to stroke his head like this when he was ill, then later River when it was just the two of them, and Mother and Father were off socializing. He'd always found it so comforting. Lately he'd been the one stroking River's head when she woke up from her horrible nightmares. River. She was…

He realized that it was Cain stroking his head so tenderly and abruptly pulled back. The quickness of the motion lost him a few strands of hair, tangled around Cain's long fingers, and Simon's eyes brightened with tears at the sharp pain. Cain simply laughed and reached forward to tug at his hair just to the point of being painful.

Late afternoon was somewhat worse. Apparently Cain took a stroll through the ship every evening, checking the engine room and cargo bay especially. This day he took Simon with him. That meant a troupe around the whole ship, displayed like a lap dog to the crew.

There weren't as many as he thought; maybe fifteen in all. Most of them were the kind of scum that made Jayne look like a choirboy. The exceptions seemed to be the bridge crew and the engineer, who were not particularly nice, but, rather, professional. It seemed Cain did have _some_ standards in his crew.

The walk wasn't much worse than the morning stroll had been until just at the end. The engine room was actually not bad. Clean, it housed only the engineer, a man who reminded him a bit of Kaylee, if only in his clear enthusiasm for the ship.

The cargo bay just about broke Simon's heart. Fifty people sleeping away as they were taken far away from their lives; as they were turned into property. They reminded him of River, locked away in her cryo chamber aboard _Serenity_, but with a much dimmer future. For them, there would be no strong Captain and kind crew to take them in, protect them—instead, they would wake to a life of slavery. But it was not the worst of it by far.

The worst was in the crew quarters, the last stop before the it was back to Cain's quarters. The crew was bad enough; but if the people in the cargo bay had just about broken Simon's heart, the three captives in the crew quarters shattered it. They were young and pathetic: A young boy, maybe fifteen, with the starvation build and desperate posture of a street child; A skinny girl, maybe 19, homely and scared; and a young man, maybe twenty-five, with the build of an office worker and a cherubic face. They were bruised, battered, bloodied, barely clothed and looked as if they hadn't eaten in days. Simon had thought his own status was horrible, but fully clothed and well-fed he couldn't bring himself to meet their hollow haunted eyes.

"Cain, what is this? What are they doing here?" Simon was surprised to hear his own voice. He'd barely spoken in two days, so it was a bit hoarse, but unmistakably his gentle tenor. He quaked in terror when Cain turned dark, angry eyes at him, but pushed it away.

"How..how could you do this? How could you let this be done? You can't just let—" Simon's sentence was cut off by a loud _smack_ as Cain backhanded him hard enough to throw him to the floor.

"Who told you you could call me by my name? What makes you think you can question me? I have been lenient with you, Angel, but never forget that you are mine; my property, my slave, my _dog_ if I want. Don't think you have even the slightest ability to improve their lot; if you push your luck you may join them—but you won't be so lucky. I'll let the men keep you for a month, and they won't be allowed to kill you."

Simon stared up at Cain in horror. His mouth worked, but no sound came out. The doctor in him was crying out at the fate of the three unfortunates, but that selfish little part of him that was in charge of survival held it mute.

"Now, do you understand? Say 'yes, master'," Cain's voice was hard as steel and his eyes sharp as a blade.

Simon did not reply but simply stared. Cain's face broke into a brief grimace of fury as he brought his hand back and swung it down viciously, slapping Simon again. Simon tasted blood and saw stars.

"Do you understand?" The calm in the man's voice was blood chilling.

"Yes, Master," Simon whispered, lowering his head in shame. He heard the hoots of the crew members, who were watching hungrily.

"Good boy. Now, lets go back to quarters." The anger was completely gone; Cain was as happy as he'd ever been. "We have a long way to go with your training." Simon felt ill.

Cain walked smartly back to his quarters, a small secret smile gracing his face as he considered the next phase of training that was about to begin. Simon could not see it, being drug behind as he was. Simon could only feel the sickening miasma of fear, guilt, anger and shame that fell over him.

When they reached the Captain's quarters, Cain informed Simon that he must first be punished for questioning him, especially in front of the crew. With no more preamble he ordered Simon to strip. Simon did so with trembling hands, but kept the glare in his eyes—it seemed that bit of pride was the only thing he had left, anyway.

Once Simon stood cold and naked, save for the collar, Cain forced him face first against the wall and tethered him there with four pieces of leather. The leather attached to four small rings spaced evenly in a square pattern. Simon hadn't even noticed them before. The leather bit into his wrists and ankles tightly and held him in an uncomfortable spread-eagle position. He shuddered as he felt Cain's hands run softly over his back.

A knock at the door startled Simon, but it was clear that Cain had been expecting it. He answered the door and let in a crew member carrying his usual gourmet meal. This time there was only enough for one; Simon wouldn't be eating that night.

Cain sat back and ate a leiserly meal while watching Angel's back. The skin was quite remarkable—smooth and soft and thin enough for a hint of blue veins to show through; for that lean, hard musculature to shift smoothly. It was a beautiful back. A lovely front, too. There was no doubt that as pretty as Angel was clothed, he was truly beautiful naked. For the first time Cain wondered somewhat about Angel's past. He was clearly from a very good family; a child of wealth and privelege. What was he doing out on a rimworld cesspool like Redwood? But Cain pushed the curiosity aside. Angel's past didn't matter, only his present and future.

While Cain ate Simon stood tensely. He knew he was only hurting himself—the man clearly wouldn't do anything to him until after his meal and keeping his body tense was only straining his muscles. But being so helpless and naked was something that Simon could not react casually to; he could not bring himself to relax. Still, over time his body did loose a bit of tension. But it all came back and more when Cain pushed his chair back, signifying the end of his meal.

Cain stood and stretched the kinks out of his body, observing his Angel all the while. He saw the sudden increase in tension, heard the boy's breath catch. It was beautiful. He felt his mild arousal from earlier—when he had hit the boy and the boy had called him master—come back even stronger.

Walking over to a locked chest, he pressed his thumb to the master lock and opened it. Inside was his secret treasure trove, a collection of toys that he loved the way many men loved their children. Looking over his toys carefully, he chose a black leather whip of medium length. It was untipped so it wouldn't cut skin—Angel's skin was so pretty, it would be a shame to scar it—but it would still be extremely painful.

Slowly and methodically, he walked up to Angel and brushed the braided leather against the boy's bare back and buttocks. He allowed his small smile to grow when he heard the boy's answering gasp.

Simon was in utter shock. He'd never been whipped before. He'd never even considered that he might one day be. Nobody actually whipped anybody these days. Only, it seemed Cain did.

Then the first blow struck and Simon's shock took on a whole new note. It was physical shock that only grew as the strikes continued. They were incredibly painful at first but, faster than he'd have thought possible, the pain receded. By the tenth strike, Simon felt no pain or fear at all.

This new clarity allowed the professional part of Simon's mind to the fore; he wasn't Simon the captive, he was Dr. Tam doing a professional diagnosis. Shock, definitely. Skin was cold and clammy, heart rate and breathing were slowing. The patient (_whip)_ displayed a disassociation (_whip)_ from reality (_whip)_ that indicated a deeper level of (_whip)_ shock. (_WHIP!) _

Simon's calm suddenly broke and he was back in the moment; back in the present and in _pain._ He gave a small broken cry as he felt the pace of the blows increase. He had no idea how many times he'd been struck, but it felt like his entire back was on fire, as well as his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. At the moment, Cain was striking him repeatedly at that especially sensitive crease of skin where the thighs met his buttocks.

The pain climbed to a new level and Simon felt red. The red filtered over his vision and pulsed through his body, blossoming most strongly in the assaulted areas. Another blow and the red pulsed brighter, hotter, turning into a terrible burning white. White covered his vision and time stopped and Simon lost himself.

When his Angel's body suddenly became slack in its bonds, Cain stopped. He'd lost control of himself. Despite his obvious inexperience with pain, Angel had made almost no sound when whipped.

That had changed after about thirty lashes. The small, helpless cries he'd started making had Cain's blood boiling and his cock hardening to an almost painful degree. It had been such a long time since Cain had lost control like that. He'd continued thrashing Angel until the sudden slump of his body let the man know he'd passed out. Cain stopped midmotion, breathing hard.

The boy was even more beautiful now, broken down by pain and his smooth white skin marred by angry red stripes. Cain closed his eyes and sought his calm. After a few moments, he was in control enough to cut the boy down and dump him on the bed. He then pulled out a salve and slapped it on the weals in a no-nonsense manner. He'd planned to make it slow and sensuous, but there was no point since Angel was unconscious and unlikely to wake up soon. He just wanted it done now.

Once he was finished he stood back and looked at his handiwork. The boy lay on his stomach, face turned toward Cain. He looked innocent in the slack-faced sleep of the truly exhausted, and his red-striped back glistened invitingly. Cain's erection had not faded and now it was becoming painful. Unbuttoning his pants he jerked himself to climax in a few short moments, coming all over that glistening back. He took two fingers and ran them through the come, collecting a bit. He then forced those fingers into Angel's slack mouth, enjoying the unconscious way the mouth sucked on those fingers just a bit. Smiling to himself, Cain put his whip way and then cleaned himself for bed. He lay down next to his Angel and left the boy just as he was.

* * *

The Broken Doll dreamed.

_The Boy Doll was crying, big, fat tear drops trailing down his perfect cheeks. He'd left the protective glass case to save the Broken Doll. He'd saved her, too, and found a new home and a new Family. _

_The new Family had no use for dolls and did not protect them behind glass. Instead, it tried to make them people. It had wiped off the dust and the blood and put the Boy Doll to work. The Girl Doll was still too broken. _

_It was hard for the Boy Doll, because it meant ignoring so many of the things the Parents had instilled in him. But it was good, too, because he was no longer neglected and growing dusty. Like Pinocchio, he was learning to be a Real Boy._

_Out of the glass case was scary for him, because there was no protection. He could be mishandled or dropped or shattered. But it was better because he had a chance to be real. _

_Only now he had been stolen. Stolen by a Dark Man who played with his dolls too rough. A man who liked to break dolls. A man who would shatter the Boy Doll and lick blood from the shards. _

_The Broken Doll had untied the knot made so long ago by the cold men, but maybe it was too late. She could feel the Boy Doll cracking, hear the snap of fine china being stressed too far to handle. He was so close, yet so far away. The Dark Man smiled. _

The Broken Doll woke up screaming.

* * *

Simon woke up the next morning in pain, but not the agony he would have expected. He stayed still, slitting his eyes to look around the room. Thankfully, he was alone. Cain must have decided to let him have some time to heal.

Carefully Simon reached around to touch his back, seeing how sensitive the weals were. They hurt, of course, but nothing like the anguish of the night before. There was a slightly greasy feel to his skin, indicating that Cain had used some sort of salve on him. Feeling down a little lower, Simon noticed a hard, crusty substance clinging to his skin.

It took him some time to figure out what it was; when he did, he gave a small cry of revulsion and moved his hand as quickly as he could. Looking around, he spotted a basin of water and quickly moved to clean himself; it was probably for the best that he didn't associate the strange taste in his mouth with the substance on his back.

After he was clean, Simon curled into a corner and cried. He cried in a manner he hadn't done in years, save once—the time when he'd realized just how damaged River was. He cried in pain; in despair; in sorrow; and, most of all, in anger.

After he cried, Simon found himself calm. The analytical part of his mind knew that he was emotionally exhausted. It also realized that the exhaustion could work in his favor: it would allow him a measure of calm he lacked before.

He could not afford the luxury of giving up. River counted on him too much. He had to be strong for her. And yet here he was, here he had been, feeling sorry for himself and allowing himself to be helpless. He was smarter than that; he was stronger than that (_you ain't weak and that ain't nothing)._

First things first. He could tell from the feel of the ship that it was in flight. He'd been on _Serenity_ long enough to learn that feeling. He couldn't escape on his own, but if he could find some way to get word to _Serenity_, they might could help him. He knew he could do it; he was smart enough to get out of this room. He was.

Luckily, Cain had stopped chaining him to the bed. The man probably believed he was too cowed to try anything. After fiddling with the comm for a few minutes, Simon was able to pick the lock to the door. Slipping on his pants, as much as they needed washing, and one of Cain's far too large sweaters, Simon snuck out into the hall, headed towards the infirmary.

He had noticed the infirmary the day before. The room was dusty and appeared to be barely used, but it did have a comm. It was the best place for him to try to contact _Serenity_. After a few minutes of fiddling and testing, nervously looking over his shoulder, he did just that.

He nearly cried from joy when Wash's face appeared on his screen. Wash didn't notice him at first. The older man was simply sitting in the pilot's chair, staring off into space. He looked sad and older than Simon had ever seen him looking, the ever-present smile missing from his face.

"Wash!"

Wash sat up quickly with a disoriented expression. It took the other man a few minutes to realize the voice had come from the com. When he did finally look, his eyes widened comically.

"Simon! Where are you? Are you okay?" Simon smiled in relief.

"I'm alright, for now. But I'm not sure where I am. On a ship…can you trace this wave?"

"I'm right on it." Wash leaned forward quickly, messing with various dials Simon wasn't familiar with. Reaching up, he hit the comm and called for Mal and Zoe.

Mal hit the bridge running, Zoe close behind. When they saw Simon on the vid screen, they froze in shock before rushing forward. They watched as Simon gave as much information on the vessel as he could and Wash desperately tried to trace the signal.

It hurt Mal to see Simon's split lip and the bruise on his cheek; the hollow dark spots under his eyes and the haunted expression in them. Anger burned deep in his chest at the site of bloody bruised bite marks on the sensitive junction of neck and shoulder; painful, animal marking of ownership marring the ivory elegance.

"Are you alright?" Mal asked the question in his serious voice.

"I'm alright. For now. But, please, come get me." The plea was more than a little heartbreaking.

"We're coming, son. We're coming." Mal had never felt he 'd failed a crew member quite this much before, even when Wash was tortured by Niska.

"The ship should have taken other captives. Can you get to them?" Zoe's practical mind was hard at work.

"Most of them are in cryo. I can wake them, but they'll be disoriented and in shock. There are three others, but…they're in bad shape. I don't know…" Simon's voice trailed off and his expression was pained.

"Get to them if you can. When we come, we're coming hard. You'll know it. I want all four of you to be prepared to escape anyway you have to. We'll have to deal with the ones in cryo later."

"Yes, Captain." Simon smiled. It was good to have the Captain creating one of his impossible schemes; something always went wrong, but it always worked out anyway. It meant they were really coming.

"I've got it!" Wash announced in excitement. He'd managed to trace the feed. In a flurry of technical information he was able to say exactly where the slaver ship was.

"Good job, Wash. And you, Simon, waving us. Now I'm gonna have to ask you to do something hard. You're gonna have to leave that room and go find those three people you told me about. Tell 'em to be ready and help them as much as you can. It'll be a while before we can get to you. If you can get back to where you were before they realize you're gone, its for the best. We don't want 'em knowing you waved us."

Simon closed his eyes and took a shuddery breathe. He knew the Captain was right, but it seemed impossible to leave this safe little room. But he knew he had to. Opening his eyes he nodding solemnly and disconnected without any further ado.

* * *

Mal had a plan. He almost always had a plan, and they were usually deceptively simple. Deceptively because they were never really simple, underneath it all. They were convoluted, complicated, Shakespearean, even. They suited his convoluted, complicated, poetical soul. Even if they never quite seemed to go according to plan.

They knew where the _Narcissus_ was, so all they had to do was lure it somewhere they could get it. They couldn't bring her down in space; _Serenity_ had no external weapons to speak of. But if they could lure her to the ground, they might could get the jump on them. Mal regretted not asking Simon about the ship or crew, but there hadn't been much time. And sending him back to be hurt some more… It hurt; it hurt bad.

Mal had hidden his guilt behind anger—anger at the slavers and at Simon for getting snatched—for as long as he could, but the guilt had come rushing back when he'd seen Simon's face, stronger than ever.

Anyway, back to the plan. _Serenity_ would lure the _Narcissus_ to a nearby moon by putting out a distress beacon. Then, when the ship landed, Kaylee and Wash would sneak over and muss up her landing gear so she couldn't take off again while Mal and Zoe distracted the slavers. Jayne would be up in the hills playing sniper.

Once the _Narcissus_ was disabled, Mal, Zoe, and Jayne would take out as many slavers as they could while Book, Wash, and Kaylee snuck onto the enemy ship. Kaylee and Wash would wake the frozen slaves and Book would find Simon on the other captives. Hopefully at least some of those poor folk would be up to fighting for their lives and freedom.

The plan was complicated and, unfortunately, hinged on Jayne. Luckily Jayne was given a job he'd like. All he had to do was take out as many of the slavers as he could before they caught on to what was happening, and kill more after they did.

The plan had only one flaw; they had to be sure that the lure would work, and Mal didn't know how to make sure. Inara did.

"Mal, I've got to be the lure." She had that stubborn, almost fearful look on her face that said she knew she was pushing him and that one day she'd push him too far.

"Absolutely not!" Bad enough that Simon'd been taken, he'd not have Inara put herself in harm's way.

"Mal. We have to be sure they'll stop, or we could lose Simon forever. If I put out a distress signal, they'll stop. What slavers would pass up the chance to get a companion? It's the only way to be sure." Inara firmed up her jaw and stepped forward, intruding on the Captain's personal space. She had to show him she was determined.

Mal hated it, but he knew she was right.

* * *

Simon sat huddled in a corner in the Captain's quarters, waiting fearfully for the man's return. To try and take his mind off of it, he recalled the events of the past hour.

He'd found the crew quarters mercifully empty save for the three 'goats', as he'd heard the Captain call them. He snuck into the room to check on them. The older two had stared at him in anger.

"Well, well, look who's here. Captain's pet." The bitter anger of the young man's voice had stung. Simon had shrugged it off.

"My name's Simon and I want to help you."

"Help us? Help us? How can a whore help us now?" The girl's voice was shrill and Simon winced at the thought that she'd attract attention.

"I'm not a whore. Do you think I want to be here anymore than you do? I'm a doctor, at least let me look at you."

"You're not here. You're in the Captain's quarters, safe and sound and well fed. I'm not letting you anywhere near me. I don't know you and I don't have any way of knowing if you're telling the truth. For all I know you've been the Captain's pet for years. Just stay away."

The quiet fury in the young man's voice shook Simon, and it was clear from her expression that the girl felt the same way. Simon turned his head to stare at the youngest, the street child.

"Do you feel the same?" He heard the own pain in his voice, but doubted the others could. He knew he tended to sound hollow, even robotic, when he was upset.

"I ain't no idiot, and I ain't no lily-liver neither. You don't want to be here any more than I do. How you gonna help?" Simon breathed a sigh of relief that this boy, who'd undoubtedly seen more of the bad side of life than anyone else in this room, was still willing to trust him.

"I'm a doctor, like I said. Let me look at you."

And so Simon examined the boy gently, noting the bruises and cuts and bite marks. There was little he could do other than clean them with water from the crew's rusty little sink, but the boy, who said his name was Jimbeam, claimed to feel much better afterwards. He looked better, too. He moved a bit more easily and had better color. Right before he left he'd whispered in Jimbeam's ear to be ready to escape when there was a commotion; he'd promised the boy that he'd come for him if he could. It had done good to see hope in the boy's eyes, even if the lingering suspicion in the eyes of the other two still hurt.

He was snapped from his reverie by the hissing sound of the door opening. Cain was back.

Cain walked into the room and searched for his Angel. He'd let the boy sleep in, knowing that he'd gone farther than he meant to with the whipping the night before. The boy wasn't on the bed where he'd left him. Instead he was huddled in the corner, looking frightened and young. For a moment, Cain thought he'd broken too quickly, but then he saw the feral spark of anger in the boy's eye and knew that there was still some fun to come.

Something about this boy drove Cain beyond all levels of lust he was accustomed to. He wanted to stroke him, own him, eat him alive and possess him fully. It was a gnawing hunger in him that he'd put off satisfying too long. Smiling grimly he locked the door behind him.

* * *

_Mayday, mayday. This is Companion Inara Serra. The ship I was on transit on has gone down. Please, I am requesting aid. Some of the crew is hurt and the ship is damaged beyond repair. Mayday, mayday_…

Up on the bridge of the _Narcissus_, the pilot called for Sam Montz's attention. Sam had been Cain's right hand man for upwards of ten years, and had served as the first officer of the _Narcissus_ for eight of those years.

During that time he'd become a moderately wealthy man. But Sam had a problem; an addiction, one might say. He was a gambler, and no sooner had he gotten his take than he gambled it away. It was a large part of what kept him tied to Cain all those years. He knew that Cain had a way of coming up with ideas that would keep them all in funds for years to come.

Sam, like the rest of the bridge crew and the engineer, received a very generous portion of the take. In return, Cain expected them to be the best and act in a professional manner. It was rare, the man said, to find a genius engineer, a great pilot, a more than competent tactical officer, and a trustworthy second. They deserved to be paid for their trouble; he was willing to pay to keep them. He left no doubt in their minds that he would space them in an instant if they failed to meet his expectations.

Sam respected Cain, but more than that, he feared him. Not because of the brutal efficiency with which he'd seen Cain deal with others in the past—members of the crew that displeased him and that one dumb fuck who tried to betray him—but more because of the man's hobby.

Keeping a pretty little thing like the boy they'd captured at the last berth was one thing, but the things Sam knew he'd do to the boy…. Those things left no doubt in Sam's mind that Cain was insane. Insane in the dark kind of way that Reavers are. It was more than money or loyalty that kept Sam at Cain's side; it was fear of what the Captain would do if he thought Sam were betraying him.

So when Sam saw the mayday the pilot had picked up, he hesitated a moment. Should he call the Captain or not? Surely Cain would want to know about this. But earlier that evening the man had told Sam not to call him for at least a full sleep shift. He'd said it with that look in his eye that made Sam, who had sold hundreds into slavery and servitude with never a blink, pity that boy locked in the Captain's quarters.

No, Sam decided, he didn't need Cain's approval to change course. He'd get the Captain before they landed, but he was sure that the chance to take a registered companion with what sounded like little risk was something Cain wouldn't want to pass up. Squaring his shoulders, he told the pilot to change course.

* * *

_Serenity_ had to burn hard to get in front of the _Narcissus_, and she had just enough fuel left to limp back to Redwood once this was over. Assuming they survived, that was. Wash wasn't so sure they would. But, then again, Wash was never quite sure they'd survive, so that wasn't exactly a newswave.

So far, so good with the plan. Inara had sent out her distress signal and the slavers had changed course, headed right for the desolate little moon _Serenity_ was parked on. A few modifications, and _Serenity_ read as heavily damaged. Now he, Kaylee, and Book were crouched, hidden close to the spot they expected the _Narcissus_ to land.

Wash was more than a bit nervous. He didn't normally take this active a role in the heists. Then again, this wasn't their normal caper, either. He could tell that Kaylee was also a bundle of nerves, caught between her extreme concern for Simon and her very real fear. Book, as usual, was a pillar of strength. Wash really had to find out which monastery it was that taught how to stay calm in situations like this. You know, the one that also taught marksmanship, ship classification, and the latest in crime techniques.

Jayne, for his part, was crouched somewhere up in the hills. Wash had no clue where, and that was probably for the best. Stealth was something Jayne did well. It was amazing how the big man, who was never less than loud and overbearingly crude in the small halls of the ship, could move like a ghost on a mission. Wash had to remember to suggest to Jayne that he continue to do so on a regular basis, rather than waiting for situations like this.

The Captain and Zoe, as usual, had the most overtly dangerous parts to play. When the _Narcissus_ touched down, they'd confront the slavers and stall them long enough for Wash and Kaylee to do the first phase of their part, then the fighting could begin.

As for Inara and River, they were in Inara's shuttle, ready to take off and flee at Mal's command. River had taken a turn for the worst the night before. After having been mostly lucid for a couple of days, she'd started screaming and screaming. It had been the most horrible sound… In the end they'd had to sedate her.

Wash could only hope that it was River losing touch with reality since it had been days since her brother had been able to treat her. He knew it seemed harsh to wish for that, but it was better than the alternative: she was sensing something happening to Simon.

Wash liked Simon, he really did. Sure, he'd been a bit stuck-up, even pompous, when he'd first come aboard, but he'd long since relaxed out of that attitude. And, while he'd likely always be a bit repressed and uptight, there was a social awkwardness to him that Wash could identify with, even find endearing. The pilot hadn't always been the life of the party that he was now, after all. And Simon was earnest, and mostly honest, and brave, and had patched up Jayne and Mal and Zoe (especially Zoe) often enough to have found a place on the crew and in Wash's heart. Wash hoped that the screams hadn't been about Simon, he hoped, he hoped.

The _Narcissus_ showed up about when and where expected and contacted Inara to let her know they were there to 'help' her. From the safety of her shuttle Inara responded graciously, but let them know that the 'hard-headed Captain' insisted on meeting them first. And so began the fun little dance.

Wash and Kaylee worked quickly. Luckily the _Narcissus_ was a modified orca (3) class freighter, a ship they were both familiar with. In less than ten minutes the ship was disabled, at least until her crew had time to repair her. That done, Wash signaled Mal on the comm.. A moment later a shot rang out and one of the slavers fell to the ground with a new hole in his head. Enter Jayne.

Once the fighting had started in earnest, Wash, Kaylee, and Book found it easy enough to slip into the cargo bay. It seemed the bulk of the fighting crew was outside—the slavers hadn't expected this more stealthy approach.

Wash's breath caught in his throat at the sight of cryo chambers lining the wall. There was something macabre in the sterile stillness of them. Kaylee, if anything, was even more horrified. Luckily, their unusual preacher was there to remind them of their time constraints.

"I think you two ought to get to work. I'm off to find Simon." With a firm nod in their direction and a kind look at Kaylee's expression—worry/hope/fear—the shepherd left.

It took ten minutes start to finish to push all the right buttons and, before they knew it, Wash and Kaylee were waist deep in disoriented naked people, many of whom were crying. Oh, boy.

While Wash and Kaylee dealt with the confused slaver victims, Book hunted the hallways for his missing crew member and the other lost souls he'd heard of. Book was familiar with the Orca design. He knew it as a type of ship favored by pirates, brigands, and slavers for the ease with which it could be fitted with weapons, much like fireflys were favored by smugglers for all their nooks and crannies. If he remembered correctly, the crew quarters should be right about here. Ah, yes.

On an Orca, the bulk of the crew shared a large room that was lined with bunks nailed to the wall. There were also tables where the crew took their meals and a small shower. It was not a particularly homey design; rather, it was intended to instill a military air.

The three souls in the room were far too young and pathetic to be anyone but the other victims. Two of them, a young man and a girl, huddled at the far end of the room, staring at him with suspicious, fearful eyes. The third, a teenage boy, had an expression of hope.

"You here to help us, preacher man?" The boy asked.

"Yes, son, I am," Book smiled kindly.

"He said you'd come. Simon said we'd be saved. But _he_ hasn't come. And that's not good."

Book's smile wilted at that. Where was Simon?

"No, it's not. Do you know where they've been keeping him?" Book carefully kept his tone modulated and soft.

"Yeah—he's been the Captain's bedbug. Josie and Ben, here, they jealous of him. I tried to tell 'em that it's better to be used by the crew, 'cause all they want is sex, than by a man like the Captain, but they won't much listen."

"A man like the Captain?" Book spared the other two only a glance at the two who _envied_ Simon.

"He's a dark one, he is. Madder'n a bughouse, but smooth-like."

"I see." Book pushed aside his worry. He needed to focus to get to Simon, not stand around dithering. "I think I can find the Captain's Quarters. Would you like to lead Josie and Ben to the cargo bay? I have some more friends there."

"Nun-uh. I'm comin' with you. Simon made me feel better; I want to help him, too. Josie and Ben know the way."

Looking up, Book saw that the other two were already slipping out the door, still shooting him suspicious looks. With a sigh, Book let them go. He wouldn't be able to help them now. No one would, until they were willing to be helped.

"This may not be safe, young man," Book looked down at the boy.

"No place is safe, Shepherd."

With those words of wisdom, the two set off. After only one wrong turn they found the Captain's quarters. They were locked, of course, but the boy, who'd introduced himself as Jimbeam, proved to be a deft lockpick and soon had the door open.

They stopped at the threshold of the room, frozen by horror. There was blood splashed on the far wall. Not a lot of it, but enough to make Book's heart skip a beat. The metallic tang of blood and the musky scent of sex rent the air, and there was a quiet stillness to the room that was more than a bit oppressive. Finally, Book's eyes landed on the bed. There was Simon.

The doctor was lying face-down, upper body naked and his lower body swathed by the black bedding. His arms were spread above his head and tied to opposing corners of the bed and the leather bindings cut deeply into his wrist. Little trails of blood ran in rivulets down his alabaster arms. His head was turned away from the door and his dark hair, usually brushed back as sleek as a seal, was disheveled and tossed about. His back, smooth and lithe with more muscles than Book would have expected, was deeply bruised and cut. The colorful panoply of blues, blacks, violets, and greens spoke of more than one beating, and carved into the small of his back was the Chinese symbol for heaven. The symbol was made of many cuts to add the illusion of a calligraphic grace to the lines as well as create more impressive scarring. It was a raw, painful wound that had not been treated. The black sheets hid any lower damage.

Book gently asked Jimbeam to stand guard at the door, giving the teen the gun before cautiously approaching Simon. He touched the younger man gently on the shoulder before checking his face—unmarred, save for a swollen mouth, and utterly slack in unconsciousness. This close he noticed the deep, bloodied bite marks on Simon's upper shoulders and neck. A thrill of rage went through him and he paused for a moment, seeking his center.

Continuing his inspection, Book carefully lifted the black sheets to look at Simon's lower body. What he saw took his breath away. Book closed his eyes and quickly said a prayer for the boy. The he gently wrapped the sheets around Simon and hoisted the boy up in his arms bridal style.

Speaking in a calming tone to soothe the unconscious doctor, Book told Jimbeam that he would have to guard them as they moved through the ship. Jimbeam nodded seriously. Book was gratified that the boy seemed to have the sense not to ask questions or make comments.

Book carried his burden through the ship as quickly as he could, hoping against hope that he would meet none of its crew. That hope proved futile after he turned the corner and found himself face to face with a large, hairy man with an angry look.

"What's this, then? Running off with Captain's pet? Can't let you do that, friend. And you, boy, what you doin' out of quarters?" The big man turned his angry leer on Jimbeam.

Jimbeam tried to be brave as he aimed the gun at Jedediah, but his hands shook. He was a small time street thief. He'd never shot anyone before, and Jedediah was cruel man. He'd found himself at the man's dubious mercy more than once in the past week and the very presence of the man was intimidating.

Book realized the boy couldn't do it. He couldn't shoot his tormentor. While the shepherd in him was glad for the boy's soul, the pragmatist in him was worried for both their lives. He couldn't exactly fight hand to hand while carrying Simon. Book's dilemma was solved by a quiet thudding noise that preceded Jedediah's heavy collapse to the floor. Book instantly recognized the thudding noise as the sound of a home-made silencer. Jayne strode around a corner.

"Disappointed in you, preacher-man. Thought you could take one slouch like him out all by your lonesome."

"I am a little busy here, Jayne." Book's words may have been annoyed, but his tone was relieved.

"You found him, then," Jayne stated the obvious. All of the good humor left his voice as he stared at the dark head that peaked out above the sheets. He couldn't see the damage to the doc, but the boneless way he slumped was not good, nor the bloodless pallor to his skin.

"Yes. Do you know how things are going outside? We need to get him to the infirmary as soon as possible."

"Cap 'n Zoe got the last few crew outside cornered and at a standoff. I'm here to catch the last of the crew before they can slip outside and cause problems. Head to the cargo bay, its secure. I'll let Mal 'n Zoe know they need to hurry it up." With one last grim look at Simon, Jayne hurried off, lifting his wrist to his mouth to give Mal the news.

"Cap'n, Book found the doc. He's hurt. We need to hurry this up."

Jayne was grim. He'd never liked the doc and that was no secret. He could understand the desire to maybe beat him up, and there was no denying the little bastard was more than a bit pretty. Jayne'd had more than one fantasy involving himself and Simon and Kaylee, or himself and Simon and Inara (or Kaylee and Inara, or, his personal favorite, all of the above), but even if Simon was mute or gagged in most of those fantasies, he was never hurt. Not like this. Just like it wasn't in Jayne to hurt kids, it wasn't in him to rape, either. Hell, he even liked his whores enthusiastic. A whore who didn't want to be doin' what she was doin' left him all manner of cold and limp. Suddenly Jayne wished he could kill these huan dun's just a little bit more. But hell. There were still more hidden around here somewhere yet.

Outside the ship, Mal stared down at his enemies in dismay. Simon was hurt. Simon was hurt, probably badly to have Jayne sounding worried. And they were stuck at a standstill. Mal and Zoe were just inside _Serenity_'s cargo bay, using the mostly closed doors as cover. The enemy, at least four men, had found an outcropping of rock to hide behind. And while they were at this standstill, there was no way they could get Simon to the infirmary. They could stay like this trading shots for hours, too. Ultimately Mal and Zoe had the advantage because one of them could hold the door while the other went and got more weaponry and ammo, while anyone who left that rock was dead, but it could still be a long time. Something had to give.

"Zoe, hold the door." She just gave him a look.

Mal made his way up the ship to the spare shuttle. He spared a glance at the closed door to Inara's shuttle, imagining her and River tucked safe inside. Then he started the spare up, and prepared to undock from the ship.

He'd be the first to tell you that he was no great hand at flying a shuttle. Alright, Inara'd be the first to tell you, but he didn't usually deny it. But what had to be done had to be done. He clumsily turned the little skiff around and aimed her at that rock. Then he flew over and swooped down low.

The first pass made two of the men scurry out of their hidey-hole like cockroaches running from the light. The crack of two shots and Zoe laid them both out. The second pass didn't dislodge either of the remaining two men, but it did manage to clip one upside the head. Considering the weight and speed of the shuttle, it was unlikely he'd ever get up again. That seemed to be the deciding factor for the last man, who stood up and held his hands up in the age-old gesture of surrender. Just like that, it was over.

* * *

Mal had learned long before that there were times when victory was hollow; when beating the odds wasn't enough; winning the battle didn't win the war, and you never had a chance at winning the war anyway. When it wasn't the worst that happened, but there was no real best. This was one of those times.

They'd beaten the slavers and lost not a one of the crew or the captives. But at what price? The captives that had been held in the cryo chambers would be alright. They were frightened and confused and horrified, but they'd be alright. The captives kept awake and aware weren't so lucky.

The two older ones, a man and a girl, stayed together and seemed to distrust, even hate, everyone. They were bitter and angry. Now, Mal wasn't gonna say they didn't have a right to be bitter and angry, but he knew better than most if you hold that anger and bitterness tight like a lover, you'd never be able to feel anything else. But they weren't ready to hear it, not yet and not from a stranger, even one who saved their lives.

The boy who seemed to be attached to Book at the hip seemed better. He'd been hurt, but he was already recovering. The sight of his eager young face lightened Mal's heart a good bit—he'd been sure the boy'd be dead or worse. But he was recovering right fine and looked to Simon with a solicitude that reminded Mal of Simon himself when he looked to River.

Simon was by far the worst. He hadn't woken once in the two days since the rescue. His injuries, though painful and like to scar (particularly his back) were not life-threatening, but he'd lost a lot of blood. River'd been more than willing to donate—the girl would happily have drained herself dry—but Mal and Zoe had been unwilling to take too much blood from the small, frail girl. Still, as far as they could tell, there was no physical reason the boy hadn't woken yet.

Psychological reasons were another matter. Mal figured that Simon hadn't been physically hurt a whole heck of a lot. Hell, he wouldn't have been surprise to find that he'd been the first person to ever punch the boy in his pretty face (or at all). Physical violence was so far out of the sphere of Simon's normal existence that it always shocked Mal a little to see him handle wounds and trauma as well as he did; like splashing blood on a marble statue. It should have slid right off, leaving alabaster skin unstained; pure. But Simon had never hesitated to wade right in and deal with any wound.

Still, dealing with the wounds of others was different from dealing with your own. Throwing blood on marble was very different from making the marble bleed. Simon had seen more than his fair share of wounds during his stay on _Serenity_, to Mal's thinking, but nothing like this. Even Early's bullet, potentially more dangerous, was not as cruel. It was a violation, but a straightforward, honest violation, if there is such a thing. The way the boy was violated by the slaver was insidious; malicious. It hurt Mal more than he'd thought it would.

The rest of the crew dealt with it in their own way. Kaylee sat holding Simon's hands for hours at a time. Book prayed for the doctor, then did what he could to help Jimbeam. He seemed to find solace in helping the boy, and had arranged for a local abbey to take the boy and his friends in when they returned to Redwood. Inara prayed as well, and comforted Kaylee.

Wash worried the way no one else could. He joked less and looked sadder, and angrier. The ever-pragmatic Zoe faced her worry by being the best medic she could. Between her and Book, Simon's wounds were well cared for. Mal doubted the boy himself could have done better.

Even Jayne was worried. The big man would never admit it, but he got real quiet and there was this expression on his face that was a mix of confusion, pity, and anger that Mal actually found heartening. Sometimes he worried about his mercenary and how trustworthy the man was. That Jayne felt no better about what happened to Simon than anyone else was a good mark for the man.

River was the only one who seemed relatively unconcerned. After she'd donated blood, she'd seemed to decide that Simon would make a full recovery. It was more than a bit odd, like so many things about River, but Mal actually found it kind of comforting. River knew things; things from the past, the present, and the future. If she thought Simon would be alright, then he probably would.

But even that bit of comfort didn't help Mal sleep at night. Which was why he found himself on his overloaded ship with a cargo bay full of poorly-dressed freed slaves (they had managed to scrounge blankets and the odd piece of clothing, but not enough to leave any of them well-dressed), a captive slaver Captain (and Mal hadn't seen the man since they'd locked him away—he'd have killed him, he knew, and it was best to bring the man in alive), a worried crew, and the masculine version of sleeping beauty, with himself sitting vigil at beauty's side during the dead of night.

He'd sent Kaylee off to bed earlier that evening, and seen River peek in with a private smile on her face before she scuttled off, too. Now it was quiet, peaceful-like and he sat alone with sleeping Simon. He'd expected it to be a bit creepifying, but it wasn't. The slow sound of Simon's breathing was soothing and a bit of the guilt freezing Mal's innards into painful contortions melted.

Sleeping Beauty. Huh. It really did seem an apt comparison. Simon had the pale skinned, dark haired beauty of the prince right out of a fairy tale. Mal figured that was one of the things little Kaylee liked best about him. Simon looked so peaceful; ageless. His lashes were dark against a soft, pale cheek and his lips were softened in sleep from the hard line the boy often pressed them into. Mal wondered if he wore that expression on purpose to look older, less pretty.

Right now the boy looked like all it would take was just one kiss to wake him up. One soft, sweet kissed pressed against those silky lips. Not a hard, randy kiss, but a simple pressing of the lips together. The harder kissing would come later. But first to see the sweet confusion and welcoming bliss in those blue, blue eyes…

Before he even realized it, Mal had drifted off to sleep in the first time in days, sitting next to Simon with his head resting on his pillowed arms right next to Simon.

Hours later he woke with the feel of a hand stroking gently through his hair. He looked up to find those blue eyes staring at him with confusion, wonder, amusement, and even affection. He stared back for a moment, then stood swiftly.

"Doc! You're awake. That's good news, then. Kaylee was worrying something fierce." Mal inwardly cursed his fumbling and his weakness to…sleep. He hated lookin' foolish, and knew he looked all kinds of foolish fallin' asleep next to the boy.

"Captain, how did I get here? The last thing I remember was…" . The pain and guilt returned as Simon's gaze darkened and turned inwards.

Simon had a good poker face; he could look as blank and emotionless as the robot Kaylee once accused him of being. But Mal knew he was easy enough to read to the right folks. Folks like himself and Zoe, who knew that reading someone was a simple matter of looking at body language first—and Simon had no clue how to control his body language. He had a way of tensing up or hunching over that let anyone who knew to look know when he was upset or anxious; his throat worked nervously and his posture looked almost painful at times. Now was one of those times.

"We came and got you, of course. You're on my crew. Dong ma?"

Startled, Simon looked up. Those magic words, part of the happy little phrase that had kept him going, were like a soothing balm. Simon smiled a warm, grateful smile made possible by the pain killers in his system.

"Dong ma. Xei xei, Captain. And, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I got taken, again. I shouldn't have even been out where they could see me; I shouldn't have been so…weak." Just like that all the lingering resentment Mal felt towards the boy for getting snatched faded.

"That's fei hua, Doc. You ain't weak. You ain't weak and you're on my crew. You're mine and I don't let go of what's mine. " Mal was dazzled by the happy smile he received before the boy passed out again—this time due to drugs and lingering blood-loss weakness, not whatever it had been before.

* * *

Simon recovered quickly after that. His physical wounds were well enough for him to be walking around in a day (far quicker than even the most optimistic of prognosis), and he seemed to recover from the mental trauma as well. He made fast friends with Jimbeam, but couldn't seem to look any of the other captives in the eye. Still, he all together recovered far more quickly than anyone would have expected.

He had nightmares, though. He pretended he didn't—he pretended he was fine, he wanted to be fine—but he did. He thought Mal suspected, too, but the Captain didn't say anything and Simon was, once again, grateful for the man's unexpected tact. As far as the others were concerned, he was fine and dandy, and that sat well with him.

He wanted Wash to joke again, Zoe to stop hovering, Book to stop looking at him with pity, even Jayne to bully him again, and he got it. Other than Mal's knowing looks and Kaylee's sudden desire to avoid him, the others started treating him just as they had before. Especially River, and he thanked God for that; his sister needed him to be strong and stable for her, and that he would gladly do.

There was nothing he could do about Mal's looks, but, he decided, something must be done about Kaylee. He cornered her in the engine room one day.

"Kaylee."

"Simon! You snuck up on me!" She looked nervously around the room. "I'd love to shoot the breeze with you, but I've got me a lot of work to catch up on, so, I'd better get to it!"

"Kaylee, please." As much as she wanted to, Kaylee couldn't ignore that pleading tone. Something about Simon's soft, shuai voice always set her a-tingling and made her knees go all melty. Even now when he'd been…

She turned and looked at him, her eyes bright with tears.

"Kaylee, why are you avoiding me?"

She winced. How could she tell him that she felt guilty? She'd gone on and on when Early had threatened to rape her, but here Simon was just goin' on with life and bein' so brave. How could she tell him that just looking at him made her want to cry? That she pitied him? She knew he could never accept that; in his own way he had as much pride as the Captain. What could she say?

"Its just you was…you was ra…"

"He didn't rape me," Simon lied. Some things, Kaylee didn't need to know. "He just cut me…on my back."

Kaylee looked at Simon suspiciously. She hadn't seen the injuries—no one but Book, Zoe, and Cap had—but the way they'd been acting, and the blood—she'd seen that black sheet, stained darker suspiciously low. Simon saw her disbelief.

"Look, I'll show you."

"No, you don't have to…" Kaylee's voice trailed off as Simon turned and lifted his shirt and lowered his pants just a bit. Just enough to see the big bandage taped to the small of his back. Kaylee tried to ignore the smooth skin of his back—the lines of him, smooth and sleek as a cat; the gentle curve of his lower back where it lead to his buttocks, of which she could see only the barest tippy top bit—but she'd been waiting to see it so long (any of his skin, really; he kept it so covered up that she'd just wanted to tear his clothes off like the wrapper of a candy bar and take a bite!). It was more than a mite distracting.

Simon pulled the bandage up just enough to show Kaylee the rapidly scarring wound. It looked better than was to be expected. It was still a bit scabbed over, but it really was healing. There was the painful pink look of new skin and a grotesquely graceful kanji symbol. Kaylee wasn't as good at her kanji as she was spoken Chinese, but she thought it meant heaven. There were bruises all around, but other than the scarring and the bruises, he seemed alright.

"But you was unconscious for two whole days!"

"I lost a lot of blood, but that's it. I just needed to sleep to start healing."

"Oh." Kaylee felt like an idiot. She'd spent so much time feeling bad about something that hadn't really happened—and she'd even avoided Simon because of it. She could be such a dope sometimes.

And just like that, it was over. Kaylee was embarrassed, but she was able to look Simon in the eye again. And so things returned to normal—or at least as normal as they ever were on _Serenity_.

For Simon, things seemed to return to normal, too, save the dreams. Many of them were nightmares, but not all. They were odd dreams, dreams that oddly echoed River's rants. Dreams that disturbed and distorted. But he refused to let the strange dreams affect him. He had to be strong for River. And he refused even more to let the nightmares of Cain affect him, for many reasons. He reminded himself over and over '_You ain't weak and you're on my crew. You're mine and I don't let go of what's mine."

* * *

_

The Boy Doll dreamed.

_The Broken Doll had fixed him inside, in that place damaged by the Cold Man so long ago. The Family had saved him. Now he would have to repair himself. But he _could_ repair himself. As long as he knew that, he was safe outside of the glass case. _

_That was living. Getting broken, then getting better, then getting broken again. But as long as the Family was there, they would help him recover. So, too, would the Broken Doll, even as he sought to heal her. _

_The Dark Man was still alive. The Boy Doll could feel his malevolent presence, seething with resentment and wishing for revenge. But the Boy Doll was not afraid, because he knew the Family would protect him. Because he knew he could fix himself. _

_In his dream, the Boy Doll stretched out his new power and felt the Family. The Lovers slept the sleep of the well loved and content. The Priest slept the fitful sleep of a man with too many secrets, and there was nothing the Boy Doll could do about that. The Painted Lady's sleep was marred by unwarranted guilt, but the Boy Doll soothed that away easily enough. The Soldier slept the sleep of an innocent babe, dreamless and soft. A surprise, that. The Boy Doll shied away from the Girl's dream, the heated red of lust. That was something the Boy Doll still wasn't prepared to deal with. _

_And then the Warm Man. The Warm Man who was the sweet warmth of kindness and the near heat of anger; the many shades of passion and compassion. His dreams were painful, as they so often were, and colored by regret and guilt. As with the Painted Lady, the Boy Doll soothed them away and gave the Warm Man at least one night of rest. _

_After his journey through the family, he came to rest in the mind of the Broken Doll. She embraced and welcomed him warmly and they curled up together like baby birds, warm and safe in the heart of a protective nest. It was coming home.

* * *

_

You probably picked up the strong supernatural hint in this story. I have plans to write a sequel (maybe a series) that will reveal more about River and Simon's powers and heritage. The little bit of magic that happened in this story was strongly influenced by the show _Charmed_ (I originally intended a fusion or crossover, but it's changed since then), and you'll see more of that in future stories. You'll also see some for from _The Craft_ the _Ring_ trilogy by Jane S. Fancher.

1) Sorry, had to put in the little Star Wars moment.

2) The little sachet-thing I made up, but the chant—_this is the time, this is the hour, ours is the gift, ours is the power_—is from the move _The Craft_ with Robin Tunney. I just like it, and thought like it seemed like a good 'unbinding' chant.

3) Orca class came from Karin Lowachee's amazing little sci-fi trilogy. It's really good, I highly recommend it—hoping she'll come out with a fourth book soon. Anyway, I just thought it sounded cool and fit in with the verse.


	2. On Whispered Wings

Hey guys, here's the second story. More slash, but no ncs. This has the next stage in MalxSimon, introduces a new old villain, and bumps up the supernatural stuff. This one took me longer to write than I thought it would, so I didn't edit as much as with the first story—so if something doesn't make sense, let me know.

It will probably be a while before the third (maybe final?) installment in this arc is finished, so bear with me. Thinking about doing a quick interlude—but, then again, I was expecting this story to be shorter.

I decided to put the separate stories in this arc as separate chapters—it will make it easier to find them, since they're all one chapter. They are written as separate stories, though, so they won't flow like regular chapters. But they do follow a logical order, so that should confuse anyone too much!

Warnings: Slash, some violence, mentions of child abuse (indirect), creepy villain (he's supposed to be, anyway). Oh, and heavy on the supernatural/sci fi stuff.

* * *

Nannon—Glad you liked the first story so much! Hope you like this one, too. Let me know!

Rea—Glad you liked the story. I'm also glad you noticed that about Simon's recovery. I did that on purpose—Simon will actually have to deal with it later, but he seems the type of person to me who would try to get over it as quickly and completely as possible, for River's sake. But, of course, it's not as easy as that. Expect a breakdown in the next story, but that's all I'll tell you for now.

* * *

On Whispered Wings

_Of Broken Dolls and Baby Birds_

_On Whispered Wings,_

_A Spider pulls the Strings;_

_Till Broken light of day's Last Warmth_

_Doth clear Dark Death's cobwebs,_

_And create Forever Feathered Fire_

_From which Cruel Cold must ebb._

_Baby Birds grow strong_

_And Dolls are put away;_

_With Warmth's sweet kiss,_

_Freedom Flight_

_Meets the brand new Day._

_Aboard Serenity—_

The Boy Doll dreamed that he was a bird.

_He had only a suggestion, a rumor, a whisper of wings, but knew he could fly on them. He could spread those wings and fly from star to star, as free in his own way as _Serenity

_He was not alone. The Broken Doll grew wings and flew with him. Her wings were different. While both were feathered, hers were a chaotic riot of colors, and quite large. There were reds, yellows, greens, and blues, though the primary color was a deep, bruised purple. The rusty red of dried blood tainted the soft, nearly opaque feathers and they moved in a jerky, crippled manner. His heart ached and he reached out to soothe their hurt. But he had to be careful, for sharp claws peeked out from between the feathers, weapons that would rend and tear. _

_His own wings were far more translucent than hers. They were predominantly a soft blue—bright as day at the tips and darkening to a deep midnight where they met his back. They were small, but he somehow knew they were growing. Unlike the Broken Doll's wings, they were healthy and beautiful and soft. There were no hidden traps in his wings; they were designed to fly; to comfort. Though they were fragile now, they would one day be strong. _

_The two baby birds—and he knew they were still babies—flitted from the ship (_nest_) and drifted in the cool currents of space. Despite the state of her wings, the Broken Doll (_Bird_) flew gracefully, and the Boy Doll (_Bird_) tried to emulate her. It was not as easy as she made it look, and she laughed at his first clumsy attempts, but still helped him correct his flight. Before long they were both soaring._

_The Broken Doll (_Bird_) laughed at the joy of flight. Her laughter was soothing to the Boy Doll (_Bird_) and her joy infectious. He found his usual fear of the black a pallid, distant thing. After all, the black was not nothingness, as he'd believed, but full of currents and movement. He reveled in it. But all too soon the Broken Doll (_Bird_) insisted that they return to the ship (_nest_). He wanted to protest, but bowed down to her greater experience. _

_The ship (_nest_) was quiet, but something was not quite right. The Broken Doll (_Bird_) looked at him questioningly, but he soothed her and sent her to her own little nest. She went, but not without misgivings. _

_The Boy Doll_ Bird_) hesitantly trailed down the corridor to find the source of the disturbance. He was sure it was nothing. He was wrong._

_As he turned a corner the came face to face with the Dark Man. He screamed silently, even though the Dark Man did not see him. He was free, had escaped his confinement. The Boy Doll (_Bird_) knew he had to tell someone, but was caught up in nightmare memories (_You're mine, Angel

* * *

_Aboard Serenity—_

Simon sat up with a gasp. He was cold and a bit sweaty and shivered as he gasped for air. It was odd how quickly a pleasant dream could turn into a nightmare. First the dream about flying with River—though the state of her wings in that dream was disturbing—then….what? What had set him off? Even as he tried to remember, the dream faded until all he was left with was impressions. Wings, joy, flight, then terror.

Simon sighed. His mind was working overtime now, and he was still disturbed from his nightmare. He was only two thirds of the way through the sleep cycle, but there was no way he was getting back to sleep. Resignedly, he stood up and stretched. He winced at the sharp tug of pain in his still-healing back.

His hand went to the kanji symbol carved into the small of his back. It was healing far better than he'd dared to hope, but it was still quite noticeable and would always be. The other injuries he'd recently acquired had faded. Most of his scars from his misadventure with the slavers were on the inside.

Simon dressed warmly before heading to the galley. It seemed he was always cold these days. That wasn't really new, he'd never been good with the cold—Osiris was an extremely temperate planet—but it bothered him more now.

Simon had almost reached the galley when he stopped. He felt as though he were being watched, but that was ridiculous. The corner that would take him to the galley was just ahead, but he suddenly dreaded approaching it. The darkened corridor suddenly seemed more ominous than homey, and he had the irrational sense that something horrible was just around that corner. He tried to make himself move forward, but something (_terror_) held him back.

But whether or not he made the move became a moot point. That something horrible he had sensed came around the corner all on its own. Cain.

Simon had known that the man survived the attack on the slaver ship. He'd known that he was being kept locked up in the hold. But he'd pushed that knowledge to the back of his mind where he didn't have to think about it; to think about Cain, and all the memories attached to him. Those memories crowded into his mind now, each shouting for his attention _(Angel, my Angel, my…)_.

It distracted Simon long enough for Cain to make his move. He lunged quick as a striking snake and grabbed Simon by the wrists, twisting the smaller man around until Simon's back rested against Cain's hard stomach and Cain's strong arms imprisoned Simon as sure as any bars. One huge hand wrapped around both Simon's wrists, pinning his arms, and the other covered his lower face. His mouth was completely covered and his small cry of surprise muffled. He tried to breath as well as he could through his nose, but it was partly covered, as well. He grew light-headed and his struggles lessened considerably.

Distantly he felt Cain dragging him along and his mind shouted at his body to fight, to do something! But it seemed to be a lost cause. He was too dizzy and confused and in shock. It was all he could do not do black out.

Cain reveled in his unexpected find. The fury of the past few days dimmed a bit. He'd managed to work his way out of his bonds and out of his room, but thought he'd had have to leave empty handed, stealing a shuttle and finding himself destitute. But now he had his Angel, at least. That satisfied his dark soul in many ways. Not only would he be escaping with his precious Angel, but he'd be taking something personal from those on this ship.

It hadn't taken him long to learn that this was the very ship he'd abducted his Angel off of; that the people who killed his ship and crew and destroyed his operation were mainly after Angel. They cared enough about him to take on a whole boatload of strangers; they'd care enough about him to be upset when he was gone. It was the most revenge Cain could get for the moment. But he swore to remember this ship—_Serenity_. One day, he _would _destroy it.

They made it to the catwalk over the cargo bay before being noticed. The cargo bay, though, was full of ex-slaver victims. There had been no where else to house fifty three people, really, so they were made as comfortable as possible in the little bay. Still, Cain did not expect any trouble from them. They were traumatized, and civilians for the most part.

Cain considered himself an excellent judge of character. He was quite good at judging what a body was like to do; but he was surprised sometimes. This was one of those times.

From the cargo bay a small, thin form moved to intercept Cain. After only a moment's thoughts, Cain recognized one of the 'goats'—a street child he'd kidnapped for the purpose of distracting his crew from the more profitable cargo. Cain released his Angel's mouth and reached into his pocket to pull out a long, sharp knife he'd stolen from the kitchen. He put the blade against Angel's neck and smiled cruelly, amused at the desperate way his captive gasped for air now that his hand had moved. He was pretty sure that he hadn't noticed the knife at his throat yet.

"I think you might want to move, little goat," Cain let his voice go dark and ominous.

"And I'm thinkin' you might wanna reconsider whatever it was you're plannin' on doin'," the deeper voice came from behind Cain and was every bit as ominous as his own.

Simon recognized that voice and felt a soul-deep gratitude. It helped him swim out of his suffocation darkness. He almost wished he hadn't; Cain's strong arms were still around him, his steely, merciless hand still clamping his wrists together tight enough to bruise, and now a cold, metallic twinge of pain at his neck informed him that he was in more danger than ever. Cain turned the two of them and he opened his eyes.

There was the Captain, standing tall and firm. He held his trusty pistol out and Simon knew the man was good with it; maybe even good enough to get Cain before the man could slit his throat—maybe. The steely glint in Mal's eye hid any worry over the matter the man might have.

Movement above and around them caught Simon's attention and he looked to see Zoe and Jayne stealthily moving out to high-ground positions, rifles trained on the tableau blow. Inara and Kaylee emerged from the Companion's shuttle and froze, horror in their eyes. Below, Book carefully made his way towards the stairs. Simon even thought he saw a slim, wispy shadow watching from the spare shuttle, but he couldn't be sure. All he could be sure stood between them and the shuttle was the frail form of Jimbeam, the young goat he'd befriended.

"Don't even think about it. I'm not an idiot. Twitch and I'll slit his throat. If I'm going to die, I'm taking him with me." Cain's tone was deadly earnest and the blade slid across Simon's throat just enough to make a thin slice. He could feel blood seeping from the minor wound and saw the skin around Mal's eyes tighten. The man was angry, but unwilling to make a move that might get Simon killed.

Simon caught Mal's eyes and tried to convey to the other man that he trusted him. At long last, he trusted Mal to do the right thing for him and his sister. It was a moment in time as blue eyes gazed into blue.

That moment was broken by Cain backing up towards the spare shuttle. He pulled Simon back with him, dismissing Jimbeam as a serious opponent. Jimbeam took that inattention as a chance and rushed forward, hitting Cain in the kidneys. Cain bellowed in anger and swiped the knife down and around. To Simon's great horror, he saw the deadly sharp blade swipe across the boy's throat, followed by the macabre arc of arterial spray.

Surprising Cain, Simon threw himself forward and caught the boy, putting his hand over the wound in an attempt to staunch the blood, even though he knew it to be futile. At this point he just allowed his instincts to take over.

He was so focused on Jimbeam that he barely noticed what happened around him. He was only distantly aware of Kaylee's shriek or Inara's outcry; of the gunshots that rang out from three separate guns, or the bloody holes blossoming in Cain's chest. He barely saw Cain stumble and almost go down, but somehow manage to keep his feet despite wounds he knew to be fatal. He didn't see Cain's face contort in anger, or see the man raise the knife to stab him in the back.

He did see, though only just, the small shadow he'd noticed early dart out and kick Cain—a blow as graceful and delicate as any ballet move, but full of deadly force. The man reeled from the kick and fell back over the railing, hitting the floor of the cargo bay far below. It was probably a blessing that he didn't see what fifty two angry, confused people did to his body.

All Simon really saw was the blood pumping between his fingers and the boy's scared eyes. He felt the sheer heat of that dark blood. He'd done enough surgeries to know the heat of arterial flow, but somehow it always surprised him. He was a good enough doctor to know what was going on beneath his hand; he had a good enough imagination to picture the reverse happening. In his mind, flesh knit itself and the blood flow was redirected to where it belonged. It was such a vivid picture that it took him a moment to see the blue glow underneath his hand.

It was beautiful. A soft solemn blue that Simon had seen somewhere recently (_a whisper of wings_), that others would have recognized as the same color as his eyes. It felt soothing and light, somehow warm and cool at the same time. Simon worried that he was hallucinating, but one look at Jimbeam's wide, awed eyes discounted that theory. He heard the Shepherd murmur a prayer behind him.

Suddenly he felt movement under his hands, in that deep blue glow. It felt as though the flesh was knitting, just as he'd pictured it. He once again stared into Jimbeam's eyes and saw the boy's answering confusion. After a few moments, it ended and the glow faded.

Simon didn't feel any new blood pumping out rhythmically. He didn't even feel the wound anymore. There was only the raised bump of a scar underneath his hands. Slowly, Simon released Jimbeam's throat.

The boy's throat was covered in blood, but whole. There was a livid scar where he'd been cut, but even as Simon watched it faded a bit. It was as if the cut had happened weeks ago. In a few more weeks, the scar would barely be noticeable. Simon was lightheaded with disbelief.

He wasn't the only one. He heard the preacher giving thanks to god, and Mal cursing in surprise. Jayne cursed as well, and Zoe just gave a quiet noise of thanks. Kaylee was looking for an explanation and Inara was, thankfully, silent. Only River was not surprised.

"Knew you could do it. Only have to spread your wings. Have to practice flying, or they atrophy. Pretty bird." To the rest of the crew, it must have sounded like little more than gibberish, but Simon remembered bits of the dream from earlier—flying with River on wings the same blue as that glow. He looked at his brilliant, beautiful, lunatic sister in wonder.

Funny, she seemed to be standing crooked. In fact, the whole room was crooked. No, wait; that was him. He was listing to the side. Didn't seem to have the energy to right himself, though. His last thought was that they all looked taller sideways. Then he passed out.

* * *

_Secret Senate, undisclosed location, Osiris—_

"I have said it time and time again; we should have kept them in stasis until they were ready for use!" The Senator was a large man, rotund and flabby, with a walrussy face that tended to turn red when he grew upset or excited.

"The stasis chambers are not meant to be used for such long periods of time. Besides, it would have stunted their growth even further, and god knows they're still small enough as it is," another voice spoke up, belonging to a Senator just as pompous, but thin and bony.

"Their size matters little when you consider their potential power!" This was a scientist, arguing the veracity of a project to which he'd given thirty five years of his life.

"Neither their size or their power matters, gentlemen, if we cannot _find_ them," a cold voice broke through the room crowded with powerful men who had even more powerful egos. The men were cowed by that simple statement.

This was a secret senate, one of dozens designed to work on secret projects that the citizens of the Alliance—indeed, the vast majority of the government, as well—would never know about. The particular project in question was called Project _Starling_. Most of the men had no clue where that particular name came from, only that it was the choice of the Director, a man so coldly commanding that not a one of them had the wit or where-with-all to question him.

Gabriel Tam, a prominent member of the Senate, knew that the name _Starling_ referred to a myth. No one was quite sure where the myth originated, but it told of mythic birds that flew through space and possessed incredible powers. They were called Star Birds, or, more commonly, Starlings. Gabriel had only the slightest clue why the Director had chosen that name for the project—it had to do with the strange and mysterious powers that were carefully cultivated in the project's subjects.

Project _Starling_ had begun some sixty years ago, starting with the Director's vision and building quickly with the support of powerful members of Parliament. Gabriel himself had only joined thirty years earlier, when he was brought in by the Director himself.

The man had intrigued Gabriel with the idea of the project; with the prospect of becoming an integral part of the process within a few short years. The project itself was astounding.

Genetic engineering, years beyond the mainstream science. The senate was attempting to genetically engineer children with talents that would put the Alliance's current operatives to shame. While the pragmatist in Gabriel had been inclined to scoff at the 'talents' they were trying to breed into those children, the Director had convinced him that it was entirely possible to create a child with the ability to read minds, or the future, to move objects with their mind, or heal with a touch. The secret, the man had confided, was certain genetic material the Director had gotten his hands on. While it was a mystery to everyone, as far as Gabriel knew, from whence that material had come, early tests did show that it, indeed, affected the carefully chosen embryonic cells to which it was administered.

There were problems, of course. The chief of them that a viable embryo had yet to be created. Thirty years had passed before Gabriel had ever even heard of Project _Starling_ without a single viable embryo. That in itself was astounding; parliament did not often over look such continuous failure. But the Director was a force in and of himself; one even parliament seemed to fear.

By the time Gabriel had come along, they'd been close to completion of the initial stages. Four viable embryos had been created within six months and were kept in stasis. For a further ten years they were kept in stasis while Gabriel was groomed to become their caretaker.

He'd been given a new name—Tam, which amused the Director for some reason—and a business. With the Senate's quiet support he'd become a major player on Osiris within five years. He'd also been married to an attractive, quiet women with the family connections he'd needed to move into the Osiris ton. Between her family name and his business savvy and money, the 'Tams' had become rising stars among the Osiris elite who seemed to lack only one thing. Children.

Under the bland excuse of a vacation, Gabriel and Regan had snuck of to the Senate's science facilities to have Regan implanted with a _Starling _embryo. Unofficial rumor on Osiris was that the Tams were infertile. It was becoming a common phenomenon among the Alliance elite, and was politely ignored.

The first embryo did not take, nor did the second, nor the third. The first two were rejected by Regan's body and quietly flushed out in a matter of days. The third rejected her instead, and very nearly killed her. Regan had known, of course, the risks. She'd been as carefully groomed as Gabriel, after all. It was hardly coincidence or even Gabriel's native charm that brought them together; it was the Director.

Regan did not hesitate to have the fourth, and last (at the time) embryo implanted in her womb. Hesitantly, the embryo stuck. It was a touch-and-go pregnancy, but ultimately produced a beautiful baby boy. The first _Starling _child had been born. Gabriel named him Simon.

Simon was a remarkable child. He was bright and quick and beautiful. Regan dressed him up like a doll to show him off, and Gabriel was eager to show his peers how brilliant the boy was. Neither Gabriel nor Regan ever forgot that Simon was not truly theirs, but the rest of the ton did not know that. They were amazed at the doors that opened to them because of Simon.

On Simon's fifth birthday, that happy little illusion was damaged. The Director came to meet Simon, to investigate his talent. It was then that Gabriel had realized the Director had Talent of his own. A healer, he'd named the boy; a disappointment. Though healing was a talent, it was not one that currently interested the Senate or the Director. Gabriel came to understand on that day that the Director was looking for something very specific, and not in the name of science. He had some hidden agenda. Gabriel was smart enough to keep that revelation quiet, and ambitious enough to want another chance.

He was given that second chance. Another embryo had been created using the same material as Simon's, yet given enough genetic variation that it may prove to have different talents; talents more in line with what the Director was looking for. A girl, this time. One genetically close enough to be a legitimate sibling.

Simon was not put completely aside, of course. In the eyes of the ton, he was still Gabriel and Regan's son; in the eyes of the Director, he was still an object of curiosity and study. So the Tams raised him as a child of the ton should be raised. And the Director did continue to stop by, two or three times a year, until Simon was ten. He'd spend an hour or two alone with Simon, supposedly testing his gift. Gabriel was chilled to realize that Simon never remembered those times nor the Director. He was quite happy to not know exactly what went on in that room.

The girl was implanted in Regan's womb immediately. Like Simon, her pregnancy was iffy, but she survived. Regan named her River. It was after her birth that Gabriel learned that he and Regan were not the only 'parents' the Senate had trained. There were several others, but none had been able to bear living _Starlings_. Simon and River were the only two to survive past birth.

River was, if anything, even more remarkable than Simon. She was as quick as he, and often quicker; for everything he learned to try and earn his 'parents' love, she learned for the sheer joy of learning. Gabriel and Regan were disconcerted to realize that their approval meant little or nothing to the girl. She may have not been able to put it into words, but from a very young age she knew that they were not her true parents. That they did not love her the way parents should. She, in turn, did not love them. Their only true hold over River was Simon.

Simon adored his sister from the moment he first saw her, and she adored him in turn. They were far closer than most siblings; most twins, even. By the time she was three, they'd created their own language. It was with the matter of the language that Gabriel and Regan learned how to control River—through Simon. They told Simon, then ten, that he was too old to speak nonsense, and punished him every time he did. Caught between River and his parents, gentle Simon was confused and depressed. It was River who abandoned the language to save her brother from his distress.

It was River who was responsible for the Director's decision to stop 'testing' Simon. Though she was only three, she knew that something bad was happening to her brother. She confronted the Director as soon as he left Simon's room.

It should have been laughable to see a tiny three year old girl stare down the tall, venerable man; it was chilling instead. The Director had tested her then and there, two full years before the testing was scheduled. Then he'd laughed. He'd declared her perfect; exactly what he was looking for. She'd grown angrier, and threatened the Director. Gabriel hadn't understood what she'd said, but the Director had. He'd promised the girl that he'd leave Simon alone. In exchange, she'd go to the Academy when she reached fourteen. She'd agreed.

Simon never knew, of course, and River wanted it that way. Simon had grown up fairly normal after that. Gifted, of course, and a proud feather in the Tam family bonnet. He'd gone off to Medacad, which Gabriel encouraged, hoping to secretly stoke Simon's healing talent. River had gone to the Academy as promised. Things had been going perfect for the Tams, for still no other _Starlings_ had been born.

Then Simon had sensed something was wrong with River. He'd gotten her letters and found a code. Then that dratted boy had ruined _everything_. He'd stolen his sister and gone into hiding. It shouldn't have lasted long. For all their brilliance, Simon was horribly naïve and sheltered and River's mind had been shattered. But somehow month after month, operative after independent contractor after bounty hunter, they'd managed to elude the Alliance and the Senate.

Gabriel and Regan were able to hide the disaster among the ton; Simon had gone on sabbatical, he'd explained, overstressed by having too much responsibility at too young an age. Tragic, but reparable. None of their peers even need know that River was missing.

The Senate was another matter. Many had wanted to lay the blame squarely at Gabriel's feet, but, surprisingly, the Director had stepped in and defended him. Still, that did not stop the squabbling and squawking. Every one of their meetings had dissolved into this. One Senator would loudly proclaim how things _should_ have gone differently, another disagree. Those in charge of the raising of the _Starlings _would have heated debates with the scientists who'd designed them. And they'd go around and around in these meaningless circles until the Director stepped in and stopped it.

Just as the Director stepped in, however, something happened to the man. He paused and stared off into space for a moment. The room full of Senators that watched with baited breath didn't even seem to exist for him. Gabriel worried that the man was having a stroke or something. After all, he had to be well into his nineties by now, even if his vigor and strength denied it.

Suddenly the Director snapped to as if his attention had been harshly recalled. He looked around the room and the Senators withered beneath his harsh glare.

"The Senate is dismissed! D'Mar, Anteel, you stay behind. You too, Gabriel."

Gabriel waited nervously. D'Mar and Anteel were the two Senate members who were responsible for studying the talents of the _Starlings_. He'd not seen them since River had confronted the Director all those years ago, but they'd been by his side every time he'd 'tested' Simon, fading into the background. They frightened him even more than their quiet, creepy core of blue-handed 'independent contractors'.

As soon as the room was cleared, the Director got down to business. "The binding I put on Simon's powers is gone."

"How is that possible?" Questioned D'Mar. "That binding was solid; he shouldn't have been able to break it without your help." The man's voice was, as usual, completely monotone.

"The girl, of course," the Director replied bitterly. "I don't know how she knew to do it with no training, but there can be no doubt that the boy just performed a full-fledged healing."

"Are you sure?" Anteel's audacity shocked Gabriel.

"Of course I'm sure! I've felt him perform minor healings many times over the years, aided by what he learned at medical school. I doubt he had any clue what he was doing, and he's a skilled enough surgeon that the many lives he's saved that he shouldn't have been able to do have been attributed to that skill. But this was different. He healed a wound with his powers alone; a major one, too. The binding is gone."

"Is this good or bad news?" Gabriel was hesitant to put his voice in, but he had no expertise in this matter and honestly did not know.

"Good, I think. I have his pattern now. His essence. I can trace it to a location every time he uses his power. The more he heals, the closer we will get to finding him, and, through him, his sister. It is only a matter of time."

"That is good news, Sir. Why not share it with the Senate?"

"Most of them don't truly understand the Talents these children have. They also fail to realize that I, myself, have some meager talent."

"Not just meager, Sir," put in Anteel.

"Enough. I don't need flattery. My skills are _nothing_ compared to those of the _Starlings_. I doubt I could have bound the boy had he not been so young and docile. I could not have bound the girl, at all. It is only her own dementia that holds her in check now."

Gabriel shivered. He'd never realized how strong the children were.

"No, the Senate could never understand. Do you know, Gabriel, that many of them think I am grooming you to take my place on the Senate?"

Gabriel did not know how to respond to the sudden shift in topic. He was, of course, aware of the rumor, but was hesitant to give it too much credence.

"Sir, I am sure you'll be in that place for years to come."

"Come, now, I said no flattery. The truth is, Gabriel, I am dying. I am ninety-six years old; I should have died years ago. Your son staved off my death."

Gabriel was shocked. He had not known…had not imagined.

"Yes, that is how powerful he is. Even bound, his talents were capable of restoring my health. But it's been too long, and this body fails me. Those rumors among the Senate, they were half right."

The Director gave a cold little smile, and Gabriel stared in confusion. _Half _right?

Suddenly D'Mar was holding his right arm and Anteel his left. They were both rather small men—short and quite slender—so Gabriel was shocked when they manhandled him to a kneeling position with no trouble whatsoever. Their grip was iron.

He looked up at the Director and saw the old man's shark smile. For the first time since he'd met the man, Gabriel truly feared him—was not simply cowed or intimidated or worried for his fortunes, but was in mortal fear.

"Come, Gabriel. I will show you how alone you are, and how weak. And then you will never be alone or weak again." The smile widened and Gabriel tried to scream, but no sound emerged.

Half an hour later, Gabriel, Anteel, and D'Mar emerged from the conference room. Most of the rest of the Senate waited for them, eager in their jealousy to learn why the three men had been kept behind. The solemn expression on the men's faces quieted the room quickly.

"I am saddened to announce that….that the Directed has succumbed to old age; he is dead." Gabriel's voice was grief-ladened.

The room exploded into an uproar. None of the others quite believed it; they wanted to know what that meant for them, and the project. The three men allowed the hubbub to continue for a moment, then D'Mar stepped forward.

"The project _will_ continue. The Director kept us behind to discuss his will. He has made arrangements for the continuation of the project; Gabriel Tam is the new director."

The Senators were quiet. Not a one of them did not want to protest Gabriel being chosen over them; not a one of them wanted to be remembered as the voice of dissent if Gabriel managed to hold and maintain that power. Gabriel let an appropriate amount of sadness show as he dictated plans for a funeral and the continued meeting of the Senate. Soothed by the flow of commands, the Senate drifted away. Had they looked behind them as they left, they would have seen on Gabriel's face the Director's familiar, cold smile.

* * *

_Aboard Serenity—_

She was doing it again. It had taken Simon so long—and not a few faux pas—to get Kaylee to stop looking at him like he was the shiniest thing in the verse and she was a magpie just ready to take him back to her nest. But he _had _gotten her to stop, and been so much more comfortable with her ever since. 'Had' being the key word.

Following the near miraculous way he'd healed Jimbeam, she'd started staring at him and sighing again. It was disheartening to have gotten so far he could honestly call her friend, only to be pushed back into a position on a pedestal by an act he was pretty sure he could never repeat.

He had not a clue what he'd done. It was a fluke; maybe even the miracle the Shepherd insisted upon: God had worked through him. Simon knew that he was a damned good doctor, but because he put in the time and effort to be one. Not because of magic or whatnot.

Back to the problem at hand. Kaylee. What to do about her. She'd reached a point where she waffled between shy and aggressive. She'd stumble over her words and blush one moment, then make a wholly lavicious comment the next. And she was always there, watching him, staring at him. More than once he'd turned to catch her gaze locked suspiciously low on his body. He wasn't sure which of them was embarrassed more every time he caught her staring at his butt; not that _that_ stopped her. The crush that had been fading was back stronger than ever.

If Kaylee's hero worship made him uncomfortable, most of the rest of the crew compounded the problem. The Shepherd seemed convinced that Simon had been God's vessel, and watched him closely for further divine presence. Jayne seemed almost frightened of him, a disconcerting reversal that made Simon recall his bullying with a kind of fondness. Inara insisted that Simon try to learn what he'd done so that he could repeat the act in the future. She meant only kindness as she tried to help him discover what power he'd used, but it made him increasingly uncomfortable. Wash made jokes about saints and wizards and all manner of related subjects that did nothing to dispel the tension.

Only Zoe, River, and Mal did not disturb him these days. Zoe reacted to Simon's little miracle as pragmatically as she did to anything else—little surprise there. She agreed with Inara that Simon should see if he could repeat the event, though only for practical reasons. Other than a quiet comment to that effect, she left the matter alone. River said next to nothing on the subject as far as Simon could tell—he wasn't always sure exactly what she _was_ talking about. For the past few days all she'd been talking about was birds and wings growing. The dream had all but faded from his mind, and he had only the vaguest sense of what she meant.

Mal was no surprise, either. As usual, the man was a master at ignoring anything he couldn't explain and didn't want to think about—such as divine intervention or magic. To Mal, the moment was over and the man had moved on. At least, that's how it seemed to Simon. He treated Simon with the same brand of affectionate amusement, inattention, and irritation as always. His presence was a balm to Simon's nerves, and the man had even taken to chasing Kaylee away from her lusty, worshipful staring back to work, much to Simon's relief. It didn't even prickle his pride that much that Mal obviously found his discomfiture at the hero-worship 'funny as hell'.

At least today the bulk of Simon's 'followers' would be disembarking—the slaver victims. They'd reached Redwood. Simon would be sorry to see Jimbeam go, but would not miss the others. They'd seen what happened same as the crew, and had reacted much like Kaylee (though less lustfully, for the most part). Simon had spent the past few days thinking of any reason he could to avoid the cargo bay. Honestly, had he wanted he could have started a cult.

And then there was the body. Cain's body. He'd only caught a glimpse of it. He'd woken in the infirmary and had been weak for hours. As he'd stumbled to his room in the middle of the night (you could only sleep on the infirmary bed if you'd actually been drugged, it was that uncomfortable), he'd passed as storage locker and seen a sheet-swaddled form.

Though the body was covered, it didn't take much thought to realize whose it was, and Simon's imagination supplied him with a gruesome picture: Cain, his chest a soft, mushy, bloody area thanks to three powerful gunshots; contusions changing the bulk of his flesh to black and blue where it wasn't that pallid grey color that dead flesh became; bones broken, contorting the body to grotesque shapes and piercing the flesh in places; and hundreds of thin, jagged scratch marks made by the nails of his victims as they tore at him in his last moments of life.

He'd had nightmares that night, revolving around the body coming after him much the same way Cain had. He'd woken with a scream frozen in his throat and the feel of cold dead hands on his skin. Thank God for River. She'd been there, to comfort him as he so often comforted her. They slept together that night, curled up in innocence. It was the only way Simon would have been able to sleep. The next night, Simon had given himself a soother when he was ready for bed and slept soundlessly. He didn't know what he'd do tonight; he didn't need to get into the habit of drugging himself to sleep, but dreaded more nightmares.

The ship entered atmo and Simon felt the change even before the Captain made the announcement. Simon sighed and headed towards the cargo bay. He needed to say goodbye before they docked. He intended to stay in the galley with the bulk of the crew during their stay on Redwood. The only ones who would be getting off were Mal, Zoe, Jayne, and Book. And, of course, all their passengers.

Mal, Zoe, and Jayne would deliver the bulk of the passengers to the Mayor's home, where they could seek refuge until they found a way to get to their own homes—many of them came off ships that may have left berth in their absence. They'd also turn in Cain's body for the rest of the reward—the Mayor had only given them half in advance. If the man tried to stiff them, they had fifty witnesses right there.

Book was to take Jimbeam and collect his little street gang. He'd then lead them to the local abbey that was waiting to take them in. Simon was happy for the boy that something good had come of his ordeal. He'd bounced back so quickly that Simon envied him a bit, though he was glad for him as well.

Simon steeled himself as he walked into the cargo bay and was met with exclamations of joy.

* * *

_Aboard Serenity—_

The day had gone smooth as silk for once. The Mayor had wanted to stiff them, but couldn't; not with fifty witnesses watching and waiting. So they'd been paid. To Mal, getting paid was the natural conclusion to doing a job. So it was somewhat odd to him how hard it was to reach that conclusion betimes, and gratifying when they did reach it with little fuss.

They'd been paid and gotten back to the ship to find none of their crew'd been kidnapped yet. With the three of them there, that eventuality was far less like to happen. Shepherd Book was back with happy news; they'd found Jimbeam's little gang and the kids were now at the abbey, snug as a bug in a rug. The crew was all here, they had money, and, pleasant surprise, a job offer from Badger.

"Wash, call Badger. Tell him we'll be in Persephone in about a week, and we'll hear his offer." Mal's voice had that pleasant tone it got when things went well and he was unlike to be blowing up at anyone. "The best part is, if we don't like what that huan dan is offerin', we made enough cash just now to tell him just where he can stick his job."

Wash sat back in the pilot's seat and grinned with his beautiful wife hanging over the back of the chair to embrace him. Mal was happy; Zoe was happy; they had money and the prospect of work. Things were good.

Which was when things went wrong. Wash started the entry sequence for Serenity and pulled up the cortex to wave Badger when an ominous bang came from the engine room, followed by the annoying buzz of an alarm. Mal closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"KAYLEE!" The little engineer came running into the room, even more grease and soot than usual marring her pretty face.

"Want to tell me why my engine won't start?" Mal could never quite bring himself to threaten Kaylee the way he did others. Hell, he could even do his damnedest to intimidate Inara and Simon, but couldn't bring himself to be that mean to lil' Kaylee—and he'd place money on Kaylee over Simon if it came to a fight, provided she had a wrench in her hand.

"Compression coil busted, Captain," Kaylee was upset, which was normal when something was wrong with Serenity, but not tearful, meanin' she didn't feel guilty and it was fixable.

"Well, fix it and get us in the air."

"Can't. Compression coil is _busted_. We need a new one. We _been_ needin' a new one, like I _told_ you time and time again." So that's why she didn't feel guilty—she blamed him. "We's just lucky that we was on the ground, not in space, when she busted."

There wasn't much he could say to that. She _had_ told him, more than once, but he'd kept putting it off. As for lucky that they weren't in space; well, that was a fact. He still had the occasional nightmare about be alone on Serenity when the catalyzer blew. Haunting nightmares about her bein' a ghostship, and he was the ghost. He let loose a string of mandarin curses that would have had his mamma smackin' him up the back of his head had she heard him.

"How much is a new one gonna cost?"

"Depends. If'n I can get us a good deal on a used one—maybe thirty thousand. A new one'll be forty thousand, at least."

Mal felt his mouth drop open. Damn, that wasn't much less than he'd paid for Serenity herself.

"They's necessary parts, Cap'n. Every ship's _gotta_ have them, and a good one'll run you for at least ten years. That's why they's so expensive. I'll do my best."

"I know, xaoi mei mei. Wash, wave Badger. Tell him we'll be on Persephone in a little over a week, and we'll be ready to hear about the job. Zoe, you're with me and Kaylee. Everybody else stays with the ship."

Mal followed little Kaylee to the nearest part shops, cursing a steady stream of Mandarin under his breath.

"It never goes smooth."

* * *

_Tam Family Manor, Osiris—_

The Tam Manor was an elegant estate, situated on a quiet, well-designed plot of ground. Gabriel Tam had loved its well-groomed garden and tastefully understated grandeur; the creature that Gabriel Tam had become liked it also, but found it a bit boring. They always wanted more excitement when They became a new creature; entered a new host.

They were invariably driven to a new host by the failure of the last; in this case, the Director. That dried up old body had failed to amuse Them for years; its sex drive shriveled up, its sense of taste disappeared, and sight and sound became dull and lifeless. Still, it had served its purpose by maintaining Their power and Their mind. Yes, the mind was the most important factor. They had discovered long ago that the decay of the body's mind led to the decay of Their own consciousness with near disastrous consequences.

Yes, entering a new host was always exciting, but this time had been something of a disappointment. They'd hoped to be entering the body of a twenty-something boy or a teenaged girl; instead, They'd had to make do with their 'father'. But even if Gabriel Tam's fifty year old body lacked the powers or the vigor of the children, it was much more vital than the last had been. They wanted to use it to experience those thrills they'd done without for so long. Even Gabriel had done with out, as intent as he'd been on gaining power and standing. It was something he'd never have to worry about again now that he was part of the Whole.

They always had to be careful when testing out a new body that They nothing too spectacularly out of character. Unfortunate in this case, for Gabriel had the reputation of a staid and dignified business man. Oh, well. There were at least a few activities They could engage in with little risk of discovery.

They entered their new home with much pomp and the faithful presences of D'Mar and Anteel. Those two had lost their own sense of free will many years earlier, when the Director had cleared it from their minds. It was such a relief to not have to rely on loyalty. Humans could be so fickle.

They told Their wife the good news and she did rejoice. They were not shocked at the callous manner in which she reacted to Their supposed death. She was a vain, ambitious creature who was willing to grab onto power any way she could.

On to the celebration. They imbibed the finest foods and alcohol, indulging Themselves, before turning to the woman. That had surprised her. Gabriel had never been so forthright about sex. He'd slept with Regan the appropriately rare occasion, then suppressed his sex drive in order to focus on business, indulging in only the occasional whore or secretary. That was foolishness in itself, They knew; one should enjoy life's pleasures while they could. Regan was a lovely woman, even if she had passed the flower of youth. She was also Their wife; Their property, even. She would do her womanly duty.

That night had held surprises for both of them. If Regan was surprised at 'Gabriel's' insistence on their joining (and his stamina; no _hunger_) They were also surprised at her perception. She recognized Them. She was not the first to see different eyes looking out of a familiar face, but people were amazing in their ability not to see what they did not want to see. But she _saw_.

"D..Director?" She'd whispered in horrified awe.

"My dear, do you feel quite well? The Director died today."

"You're not…you're not Gabriel. You're _him_. Oh my God, how? How?"

"My dear, that's crazy talk. Do you know what others would say if they heard you? They'd say 'poor Regan Tam, she's had a breakdown. Its been stressful for her lately, and that fragile, aristocratic blood that lends her delicate sensibilities leaves her vulnerable to just this sort of thing. Its just like what happened to poor little Simon.'" He allowed fake honeyed concern to drip into his voice. "You could end up in a madhouse, if you're not careful."

Regan was a sensible woman, They'd always liked that about her. She was quick to make a deal that benefited her. She'd keep her mouth shut and stay by Their side, sharing in Their greatness. She'd also find Them entertainment. Young or old, male or female, They didn't particularly care, though attractiveness was important. She'd have new flesh for Them to indulge in every night, and They'd stay out of her bed as long as she did. It seemed that she hadn't enjoyed the experience much.

On the work front, D'Mar and Anteel had their blue-handed agents spread throughout the verse. As soon as the boy healed again, they would be able to pinpoint him and it would be a simple matter to command the agents to his position. Get they boy and they'd get the girl. If she wasn't with him, she'd follow. It was only a matter of time now.

* * *

_Aboard Serenity--_

The repairs were fixed 'quick as spit' as Kaylee'd put it, and _Serenity_ was on her way to Persephone. To a potential job from a man that had never been nothing near reliable. Mal hated taking jobs from Badger. Wasn't just that he didn't like the man; plenty of contacts he didn't like, but he'd do business if he could. No, the problem with Badger was that the man just wasn't trustworthy. In the business sense. Time and time again that little weasel had screwed them over just for the pleasure of it. If he didn't get them the occasional big payday—like with Sir Warrick Harrow—Mal would have cut ties with him long ago. He was still only about an inch from looking for a new Persephone middleman.

They were about three days out when they hit trouble. 'Course they hit trouble, that was no question; just the when, where, and what kind ever seemed to be in doubt. This kind of trouble wasn't so bad, though, at least not at first.

They picked up a mayday with a familiar transponder signal—the _Dolphin_, Monty Burke's ship. Monty was an old friend from the war, proud Independent and fellow smuggler. He captained an old but serviceable G-23 falcon class ship. A good bit larger than _Serenity_, and with a sizeable crew, Monty made his money transported large quantities of illegal goods. Because he could transport so much, he made a pretty penny and was able to do safer runs. The downside was that the falcons didn't come with all the hidey holes of a firefly; Monty got stopped by the Alliance and the jig was up.

The _Dolphin_ was a sturdy ship, not the kind to break down easy. So it most like wasn't somethin' harmless as happened to them. It left Mal feelin' the itch of unease as he answered the mayday.

"_Dolphin_, this is _Serenity_. What is the nature of your problem?" It was the dead of night—such night as they had—and Mal was the only one up as far as he knew, manning the bridge while Wash and Zoe got some sleep.

_--Mal? Mal, is that you? Thank God! We got hit by Reavers. We managed to get away, but _Dolphin_ took some pretty bad hits. I sure as hell hope you've got some spare parts.—_

"Wode ma! Reavers! Yeah, we got some spares, hopefully what you need. Let me get little Kaylee up here so's you can tell her."

_--Thanks, Mal. We'll pay you back.—_

"Don't you go worrying about that, now. Anybody hurt?"

_--Reavers never made it aboard, but a few of the crew got banged around. Georgie—you remember him? Young fella, missed bein' in the army by about five years but always wishin' he had been?—he got hit hard. Some equipment fell on him. I ain't sure he's gonna make it. As I recall, Zoe was a fair hand at first aid. She available?—_

"Don't worry about Zoe. We got a ship's medic, a real doctor. He's good. Fixed my own sorry self up a time or two. I'm sure he can help little Georgie."

Twenty minutes later Kaylee'd gotten on the horn and found out exactly what it was _Dolphin_ needed, and scrounged her little engine room for spare parts. Simon was the professional he always was when it came to medical emergencies and ready to go with his bag in hand. Zoe, Wash, and Book were up as well, helping where they could. Inara drifted in, awaked by activity.

The only one not present was Jayne—Mal made a command decision not to wake him. If the man could sleep through Early—shouting, fighting, and a gunshot not twenty feet from his bunk—he could sleep through this. Mal didn't even want to know what he'd think on the matter, sure it'd be somethin' along the lines of 'I ain't goin nowhere Reavers done been!'.

As they got ready to dock, they noticed a hitch.

"Monty, your docks working? They look pretty banged up."

A moment of silence was followed by a string of curses.

_--Damn it! The docks are outta order. I hate to ask it, but could you come over on a shuttle? We'll open the cargo bay doors and you can fly her right in.—_

For anyone else it would have been an automatic no, it sounded too much like a trap. But Mal had known Monty to be trustworthy since the war, and he wouldn't start distrusting him until he was given a reason. So Mal, Kaylee, Simon, and Shepherd Book packed themselves into the spare shuttle to head over to the _Dolphin_. Mal hadn't been sure on bringing the Shepherd along, but the man had been insistent.

"Its not soundin' like too many of these good folks need a shepherd, Shepherd."

"Shepherds can be of comfort to those who believe, Captain, in times of peril. Besides, we don't know how badly this boy Simon is going to help is hurt. If he is beyond even Simon's considerable…talents, then I may be needed, after all."

"Yeah, you're just a barrel of laughs tonight." Mal had a sneaking suspicion that a large part of the preacher's desire to go along revolved around the chance to see Simon do that thing he did again, but Mal wouldn't call him on it. Mal may not have believed, but he remembered what it was like to be a believer; the comfort that it could give in adversity. As disingenuous as he found that comfort to be, he'd not deny it to those who sought it.

The shuttle ride was quiet and a bit tense. No one was happy when dealing with Reavers, but things could have been so much worse.

Georgie was hurt bad. He'd a broken leg and both his arms were broken, as well as several ribs. He was a bruised mess all over, and he'd hit his head hard. The biggest problem, though, was a busted spleen. In _Dolphin_'s under stocked little infirmary, Simon performed emergency surgery. If Simon hadn't come along, Georgie would have died.

It was a long, delicate process, and kept Simon's agile mind focused. Kept Simon from imagining what would have happened to these people if they hadn't escaped the Reavers—or spend too much time considering the way Book had watched him like a hawk for the first half of surgery. When the man had decided that Simon would be performing no more miracles, he'd wandered off to help the crew put their ship, and their lives, back together.

Simon had no sense of time when performed surgery. At the hospital, it had been sort of a joke for the nurses to tell him what time it was—how long he'd been in surgery—as soon as he took of his gloves. His focus was so notoriously intense that he honestly could not tell the difference between a surgery that took an hour and one that took ten. He was also somewhat famous for giving the same level of expert care after ten hours that he gave during the first. It had made him a star of the emergency room, because most surgeons with that level of focus chose to go into more lucrative practices than emergency medicine, leaving most ER's lacking the proper staff to deal with certain emergencies.

Simon had gotten better at it since coming aboard _Serenity_. Oh, not at telling time during the surgery, but, rather at figuring out how much time he'd spent afterwards based on how exhausted he was. After Georgie's surgery, he was very exhausted. Part of the reason was that he was still recovering from his ordeal with Cain and his fainting spell, but another part was that it took no less than four hours to deal with all of Georgie's injuries.

Luckily, no one else on the _Dolphin_ was seriously injured. Twenty minutes of cleaning cuts and only two or three that needed stitches or anything more serious than a weave, and Simon was done—and done for. It was all he could do to keep his eyes open.

It was fortunate that Mal had kept close to Simon. The Captain still hadn't gotten over his guilt with the whole Cain thing, and was a little extra-protective of Simon. It was heart-warming in its own little way; Mal wouldn't be feeling protective if he didn't think of Simon as part of his crew. Still, it was also annoying. Simon didn't need a babysitter. Usually. Right now, that might not be such a bad thing. He just needed to rest a little, that was all. Oh, look, the world was tilting again.

Mal noticed Simon swaying to the side, and reached out and caught the boy before he could hit the deck. Top three percent, able to perform amazing surgery and recall a thousand little details at the drop of a hat, and the boy still didn't have the good sense to know when he'd worn himself out. Mal sat the boy down and firmly told him to stay put while he went and met with Monty.

The big man was dealing with his problem well, but there was that look in his eye that said that he was seein' all the horrors that could have happened. Mal expected that they all were, a bit.

"Well, Monty, lil' Kaylee says that it'll only take a few more hours to get the engines repaired."

"Thank you, Mal. You've always been a friend, but today you were a godsend."

"Nothin' to it. I'm actually gonna head back to _Serenity_ for a bit. Our medic's done wore himself out and I wanna make sure he gets back safe and settled. I'll be back, though, and Kaylee's gonna stay right here and keep workin' on your engines. Shepherd wants to stay and help clean up, too."

"Of course. Thank your medic for us, too. Georgie's a clumsy little oaf, but we'd have been heartbroken to lose 'em."

"Yeah, we've been lucky with the Doc. He's a good one, really something' to see, though…don't tell him I said." Mal added a sly little grin with that last.

Getting Simon on the shuttle was a bit more difficult than Mal was expecting. The boy kept insisting that he needed to check all the crew, someone could have internal bleeding, but Mal somehow managed to herd him into the shuttle and strap him in. It helped that he was exhausted enough that he couldn't seem to keep his eyes open.

Before much longer they were out of the _Dolphin's _cargo bay and headed home. One minute they floated through the serene dark of space to the warm comfort of _Serenity_, the next they spun tail over nose as the shuttle was violently struck by an energy beam—an EMP. The little shuttle shuddered and then stopped completely. They had what warmth and air was already in the shuttle, but they were dead in the water—literally, if they didn't get a pick-up soon.

Out of the darkness a new ship swam like a shark coming from the depths of the ocean; a nightmare looming out of a dream. A Reaver ship.

It was a mish-mash of put together parts and a conglomeration of ships, so that Mal couldn't even tell what it had been originally. Spikes stuck out on the top and sides of the ship and bloody red slashes were the mark of war-paint. Even as Mal watched, the EMP turned on _Dolphin_, a glancing blow that was enough to take out her engines. Mal could tell by the way she floated. They were, both of them, sitting ducks.

Mal glanced to the side at Simon, who was white as a sheet. The boy's expressive eyes were big and dark against his bloodless face, but he had that iron control of his in play. He was afraid, but he wasn't going to panic, which was all to the good, in Mal's mind. If they were gonna get out of this, they'd need to keep their heads.

Through the window of the shuttle, Mal saw the Reaver ship start towards them. He saw the much smaller figure of _Serenity_ fly right up to the Reavers and maneuver around the ship at the last moment before hitting full burn and darting off into space. The Reaver ship, larger and faster but far less maneuverable, turned slowly before hitting full burn itself and giving chase.

The shuttle was caught up in the Reaver's wake. It was tossed about violently for a moment before the wake passed. Its inhabitants were tossed about as well. Mal heard Simon give a surprised 'eep' and turned to see the boy fly towards the back of the shuttle. Mal himself fell hard against the metal bench in the back and the last the he saw was blossoming red stars before he lost consciousness. The little shuttle, with no thrusters with which to stop itself, tumbled on endlessly through space.

* * *

_Tam Family Manor--_

The Whole that was Gabriel Tam felt Their frustrations mounting. The boy had used his power for the first time—They had expected that he would be in awe of the power and find a way, a reason to use it again in short order. But he had not. Now They were no closer to finding the boy and his sister than They had been.

Their anger got the better of Them (They were still adjusting to Gabriel Tam's violent temper), but fortunately They were alone with the floozy of the night; a boy, maybe nineteen, with the familiar track marks and crass voice of a streetwalker. Regan seemed to have run out of maids and servants to send Them; just as well—no one would miss this boy. They put D'Mar and Anteel to work cleaning up after Them. Might as well make use of the two; their blue-handed followers had done Them no good lately.

Yes, They were frustrated. But not ready to yet give up. They _would_ find the children, the Starlings, one way or the other. And when They did, nothing would be able to stop them.

* * *

The Boy Bird (Doll) dreamed.

_He was in pain. His body felt broken and cold. He was afraid. He was alone._

_But he wasn't alone, not really. The Warm Man was with him. But the Warm Man was hurt, too. Hurt worse. The Boy Bird (Doll) couldn't ignore that hurt, so he stretched out his wings._

_They had grown since he'd last used them. They now stretched as far wide as he was tall. They were still translucent (would always be), but they had a solidity to them now, a realness that they had lacked before. They pulsed with a blue color, a shade as bright as the day's sky; as deep as his eyes. The blue was cool and serene and warm and peaceful all at once. _

_The glow began to spread through his body and what was broken mended. His pain stopped.

* * *

_

_Shuttle Two—_

Simon woke up with a start. The last thing he remembered was…Reavers! They'd been attacked by Reavers! The little shuttle had gotten tossed about like so much flotsam, and he'd been thrown from his seat. Mal, Mal had been with him. Where was…

The cold steel blue of the emergency lights cast the shuttle into ominous shadows, and it took him a moment to locate the Captain, crumpled up in the corner as if he'd been tossed there by a careless child. He was frighteningly still.

"Mal! Captain, can you here me?" Simon rushed to Mal's side as quickly as he could.

The Captain had a large gash above his left eyebrow and was most likely suffering some head trauma. Simon carefully felt along the larger man's body, searching for breaks and signs of internal trauma.

Only a couple of ribs had been broken, but they'd been broken badly. The jagged shards of one rib were hard to find, and Simon feared they'd turned inward and pierced a lung. Other than that, Mal suffered multiple contusions. But the head wound and the rib had Simon worried.

Oh so carefully, Simon turned Mal so that he was lying flat out on the floor and cleaned and bound his head wound. Luckily Simon's medical bag was insulated quite well, so none of the precious bottles of medicine or equipment had broken. Without the ability to see the internal damage, Simon was loath to bind the ribs and risk worsening it. Mal would just have to hold still. Simon looked around and opened the spare storage chest. It was barely stocked—weapons, mostly, a few first aid supplies—but it did sport a few thick wool blankets. He laid two over the Captain and saved the last for himself. He could already feel the heat leaching out of the shuttle.

The preliminaries done, Simon proceeded to wake the Captain. He needed to see the extent of the head wound—if the Captain had a concussion, he didn't need to be sleeping. He also needed Mal's help deciding what to do next.

"Mal. Mal, wake up." Simon's tone was gentle but firm and the Captain responded quickly, thank God.

"What happened at me?"

"What do you remember?"

"We were helpin' the _Dolphin_—you looked like to collapse, so I thought to take you back to _Serenity_, and we—we were hit! Reavers! They chased _Serenity…_"

"We got caught up in their wake. It tossed the shuttle around. We were both knocked out, and I don't know how long we were unconscious. The shuttle's power is still out. We have emergency lights, and that's all. I'm not even sure where we are—that wake may have pushed us way off course. No, don't try to get up!" Simon gently pushed the Captain back down, holding him in place to keep him from shifting the damaged ribs. "You're badly hurt!"

"That don't matter we can't restore power to the shuttle! We'll just float out here 'til the Reavers find us or the air runs out."

"Mal—we were hit by an EMP. What could you do?"

"Not rightly sure," Mal admitted, smiling ruefully.

"Then stay there and don't worsen your injuries." Simon spoke in his most firm, doctor-ish manner.

"Yes Sir!" A small smile betrayed the stern tone.

"We have to just hope _Serenity_ made it out—that they're coming for us."

"They are," Mal's tone hinted at no doubt. "With Wash behind the wheel and Zoe pulling the strings, they'll be just fine."

Simon knew it was silly to let the man's assurances comfort him that much, but he couldn't help it. Something in him just trusted Mal. It was that something that gave him such a hard time when it came to the man, because he didn't understand _why_ he trusted him. Almost from the start, Mal had made him feel…safe. He wanted Mal's trust; he wanted his approval. And that had rankled quite badly, for a number of reasons—not the least of which was the man's apparent dislike of Simon from the moment they met.

More than that, Simon feared that he trusted authority figures too easily. He'd always trusted—adored, even—his father, and trusted the government as well. They'd both betrayed him. Now here was a man that exuded strength and authority, and Simon had instinctively trusted him as well. Simon had pushed against that trust, and, in turn, pushed against Mal. Because suspicion was alien to his character (he knew he was naïve), he had a hard time maintaining that level of distrust. He knew that made him seem erratic—he'd get along fine with the Captain and crew one day, then be suspicious the next—but he just didn't know when he could give it up. He lacked the ability to judge who was trustworthy and who was not. And on _Serenity_, it all evolved around Mal.

Yes, Mal was the crux of the problem. Kaylee wore her heart on her sleeve and Jayne was ultimately selfish. Wash was a decent man, as was Book—neither would ever be willing to turn the Tams in. And Inara had been one of their staunchest defenders since that first day on _Serenity_. Zoe would go where Mal went, and Mal…Mal seemed as changeable as the black, and as unpredictable.

One day Mal would be calm and serene, happy even, the next his mood would be foul and he'd rip into any opponents with a sharp wit and deadly anger that would leave his opponent bleeding, if only emotionally—though occasionally physically, as well, as Simon could attest. Even moment to moment, Mal was changeable—or perhaps it was just that he presented different faced to different people. To Jayne, Mal called River and Simon crew, and said in no uncertain terms that they would not be left behind. But what he said to Simon was a far cry away. _Deal was, you keep her in check. Now, you can't do that, we're gonna have to revisit the deal_. Those words haunted Simon. They made him wonder, how far would he have to push before Mal abandoned them, too?

"You're thinkin' too hard, Doc. Liable to pull somethin'."

Simon gave a small smile at the joke. The Captain was right, though, this was no time to ponder the problems in his life, especially the one laying next to them.

"Sorry."

"Don't have to 'pologize for thinkin'. Its kinda what you do." Mal sounded amused.

"Too much, sometimes." Simon gave a small, self-deprecating smile. A shiver took him by surprise. He hadn't realized how cold it had gotten, but now the chill was seeping into his bones.

Mal was shivering a bit, too. The larger man's body heat was usually well above Simon's but his wounds were taking a toll and he lacked his usual hardiness. There were no more blankets, and Simon couldn't put off the safest way to warm them both up any longer due to shyness. Then he gently removed Mal's shirt—the man seemed to stunned to protest—before taking off his own. He laid his own blanket over the Captain, then snuggled up to the man under the blankets.

He caught Mal's surprised look and tried (unsuccessfully) to hide the blush rising in his cheeks.

"We need to share our body heat. The shirts would just get in the way and absorb heat we need to keep. We'll last longer—long enough for _Serenity _to find us."

"Yeah we need to last, uh…yeah."

* * *

_Aboard Serenity_

Zoe stood grim-faced behind the pilot's chair. _Serenity_ was still in full burn and using fuel fast. At this rate, they'd have to refuel before they went back to get the others, and the way that shuttled been floating didn't speak well of the Captain and Simon's chances were that the case.

They'd managed to lead the Reavers on a merry chase, but still hadn't lost them. The Reaver ship was faster than _Serenity_, but _Serenity_ could turn on a dime. Every time the Reaver ship got close, Wash would rip _Serenity _around and dart off in another direction. But the longer the chase went on, the more determined the Reavers seemed to be to catch them. If something didn't change soon, they were goners. And as soon as the Reavers finished with _Serenity, _they'd go back for the shuttle and the _Dolphin_.

Of course, just losin' the Reavers wasn't an option—they'd still just turn around and hit the shuttle and Monty's ship. They needed to find a way to take them out. And with just Wash, Zoe, Inara, and Jayne on board, no options came quick to mind.

"Lambie-toes, I hate to be a bother, but I don't think I can keep this up much longer." Zoe could hear the strain in Wash's voice. Thankfully Jayne had fallen silent after a death glare from Zoe, and Inara was silent. A quiet blipping on the nave screen caught Zoe's eye. It was an asteroid belt, a tightly packed conglomeration of rocks floating in space. They were particularly deadly for big, hard to maneuver ships.

"Honey, I have an idea."

* * *

_Shuttle Two--_

A rattling sound brought Simon out of the doze he hadn't meant to fall into. He focused, looking at the source of that sound—Mal. The captain was unconscious again, and blood dribbled out of the corner of his mouth. Simon was quickly on his knees, kneeling over the man.

"Mal! Mal, oh don't do this!" The broken rib was definitely in the lung and doing massive damage. Simon could do nothing about it without opening Mal up, and this was _not_ the place to do surgery. Even if everything was sterile, he lacked the blood that would be necessary to keep the Captain alive, and in this cold that would kill the man quicker than the punctured lung. But Mal could hardly seem to breathe, and Simon knew he wouldn't last much longer without some kind of intervention.

Simon pressed the heels of his ands deep into his eyes, making red and white explosions blossom against his eyelids. His hands clawed a bit and he felt his fingernails dig in at his hairline. He was desperate to know what to do and close to losing his cool in a way he hadn't since medical school. Even when dealing with River, he managed to push his concern and upset away until after he'd finished treating her, even knowing that he couldn't heal her completely. But the prospect of sitting here, watching this extraordinary man die was more than he could handle at the moment.

"NO! This is not gonna happen; you're not gonna die like this!" Simon put both his hands on Mal and closed his eyes and _pushed_.

For a heartbreaking moment nothing happened. Then Simon felt….everything. He felt the cooling warmth of the Captain's body; the smooth skin, marred by scars and calluses; the dark blush of bruises, particularly around the head wound; the texture of the rough muscles, built up sleekly by work and life, rather than vanity; the slickness of the smooth muscles, the organs; the smooth hard bones; the jagged break in the rib bones, especially the bad one that screamed disharmony with the whole body; the way it pressed into the lung so that its sharp edged pierced the organ like a balloon; the dark blooding clouding the interior.

Simon opened his eyes and almost lost it as he saw that blue glow. It extended around his entire body and down his arms and hands to Mal, where it slipped into the Captain's body. Though he could not see it, the glow extended outwards from his shoulder blades in two gracefully arched wings of light.

He _felt_ it, the glow. It was almost like skin—the telltale tingle of nerves racing, feeling what touched it—but not. It was the glow that allowed him that awareness of Mal's body, and the glow that could fix it. Simon closed his eyes again.

He imagined Mal's body fixing itself—the capillaries knitting, bones straightening, the ragged hole in the lung closing itself. As he pictured it, he _pushed_ and _felt_ the blue glow moving, manipulating, until Mal's body reshaped itself. It was like what had happened with Jimbeam, only slower and far more deliberate. With Jimbeam, Simon had acted on instinct. With Mal, he acted with careful thought. It was a revelation.

After a few moments, Mal's body was whole again. Simon relaxed and let the glow dissipate. He recognized the euphoria the glow had given him by its absence and he swayed with renewed exhaustion. This healing process, it seemed, was not without its cost. He shivered in the cooling air.

Mal gave a small moan and opened his eyes. He blinked in confusion and his eyes cleared.

"I feel…better. What happened?"

"You almost died. I had to…" Simon stopped there, unsure how to finish the sentence.

"You fixed me. Like you did with that kid."

"I…I did." Simon couldn't reach Mal's eyes.

Mal sat up slowly, testing for pain but there was none. He was completely healed, good as new. He looked over at Simon and saw the small shiver as the boy sat unprotected in the chill air, the droop of exhaustion. The Doc hadn't passed out this time, but he wasn't lookin' all that fresh, either.

Simon began shivering in earnest and that tiny, analytical part of his mind that would _never shut up_ whispered that shivering was the body's way of creating heat when it got too cold. Shivering like this meant a body was well on the way to freezing to death. Then a pair of strong, warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him to a solid, warm chest. Mal pulled the blankets over both of them and cuddled Simon close.

"C-Captain?"

"Come on, Doc. Body heat, remember?"

Body heat. Right. Hypothermia. That was all. So why was Simon's heart suddenly racing?

He'd seen Mal shirtless often enough to know the man was in good shape. Hell, on Bellapheron, they'd all seen him naked. But somehow seeing him in the cold, clinical lights of the infirmary did not prepare Simon to be pressed against the man. Before he could ignore it because Mal was injured, but now…The soft, slightly rough skin over hard muscles and the blessed _heat_ seeping into Simon's cold body were almost painfully sensual and Simon shuddered again—this time, not because of cold. Simon took a deep breath.

For his part, Mal was in a kind of hell. Trapped in this little shuttle losin' heat and air and all he could think of was the shaui little body in his arms. Damn, Kaylee was right, the Doc _was_ shaui. No, more than shaui. Like Inara, Simon had gotten to Mal from the minute he'd seen him because the boy was _fine_. Fancy, like fine china from Earth-that-was or the delicate silks Inara wore.

Mal had always had a taste for fine things in life, and resented the hell out of 'em that he knew he wasn't made for fine things. He could still hear old Bennie from the ranch—_Boy, you's always lookin' for somethin' what's better than you are, but you can't have it. Learn your place and look for somethin' on your level, that's the key to happiness. _Words of wisdom, Mal knew, but that didn't make them any easier for him to follow.

Simon looked up into Mal's face and found Mal looking right back at him. It was a still moment in time as he realized that the glint in Mal's eye was for him. That Mal was just affected by him as he was by Mal. It surprised Simon—even counting what happened with Cain, he rarely envisioned himself in anything remotely sexual. He understood better now the desire, but connecting that ephemeral desire with the very real world of flesh and blood still seemed abstract to him. It was easy for him to imagine the Captain in a sexual situation—Mal was such a passionate, earthy man. Such situations always seemed so far away from himself. But now he was in a moment, and had no idea what to do.

Mal did. Mal knew exactly what to do, and he did it. He put one hand on the side of Simon's face and ever so gently tilted his head back just a bit. Then he brought his mouth down to cover Simon's

It took Simon a moment to register that he was being kissed. It was so…so soft, and warm and wet. Just Mal's lips pressed tenderly against his own. Such a small thing to be so very big. Simon's eyes fluttered closed so that he could focus on the sensations. A bit of soft wetness traced the line between Simon's lips and Simon felt a tight flash of pure desire as he realized it was Mal's tongue. Simon opened his mouth to allow Mal entrance and was filled.

Mal's tongue was so hot it seared Simon, and thick, and long. Simon found himself caressing it with his own tongue, sucking on its, worshipping it, opening to it. He shocked himself with his own eager response, and the kiss went on and on.

Mal was shocked with Simon's response as well. He'd never thought his stiff, proper doctor hid such a soft, willing soul. He'd half expected Simon to pull away or freeze stiff as a board. Instead he found his tongue engulfed in that warm, sweet mouth and began to plunge it in and out in mimicry of the larger act.

Mal's big hands swept down Simon's arms to his wrists. He rolled the two of them so that Simon lay underneath him and slowly pulled Simon's hands up over the boy's head, holding them there and kissing him all the while. Part of him was waiting for the younger man to balk, but he did no such thing. Simon was so sweetly submissive that Mal took things a bit further and slid his leg between Simon's thighs, pressing up against the hardness at their juncture.

Simon was delirious with desire. The strong hands holding his wrists down and the strong thigh pressing against his hardness were almost enough to drive him over the edge. Then Mal's thigh began moving against him in a rhythmic rub and he whimpered helplessly into the Captain's mouth.

Mal stopped kissing Simon and just watched him for a moment as he continued to move his thigh. There was a pretty blush across the younger man's high cheek bones and his soft, full mouth, normally a pale pastel pink, was swollen and red. Those blue, blue eyes had darkened and the fringe of dark, thick lashes on his lids nearly hid them as they fluttered madly. And then there were the sounds he was making. The whimpering and helpless mewling, so gorram hot. Mal leaned down and began mouthing that pale, graceful neck, enjoying the increasing sounds.

Simon gasped and moaned and whimpered and mewled. Had he not been so caught up in the moment, he would have been horrified at how…wanton he sounded. As it was, he barely even heard himself, he was so caught up in feeling, in _touch_, that the rest of his senses seemed dulled. He could barely see or hear, but he didn't care, just as long as Mal kept going. The warm body pressing him down, the strong hands on his wrists, the leg rubbing against him, and the hot, wet mouth on his neck…it built and built until that mouth opened and bit down. Not enough to break the skin, just enough to hurt the right amount and give a feeling of being claimed. Simon cried out softly and his back arched as much as it could with Mal's weight on him, and he came.

Mal felt the boy shudder and writhe and pulled back to watch his face as he lost control completely. It was a beautiful sight. Simon's eyes were clenched closed and his mouth was open in a silent cry. It was a kind of catharsis, like the sound of glass breaking or the feel of water hitting skin; a gentle, wonderful death.

Mal took Simon's right and pulled it down to his own cloth-covered erection. It didn't take Simon long to figure out what Mal wanted him to do, and he began pressing and kneading through the cloth. After Simon's little performance, Mal was close enough that it wouldn't take much or long for him to come as well. He settled back down and began working Simon's neck again, gently but firmly. The whimpers let Mal know that this was a continuously sensitive area and he marked that knowledge somewhere in his mind.

A few hard presses was all it took and Simon felt Mal's entire body stiffen above him as the man found his climax. Simon found that he loved watching Mal climax—the strong neck arching so that the muscles and sinews stood out in relief, the strong shouldering tensing, the hands grasping his wrists tightening. Simon knew he would bruise there, and probably on his neck as well, but he didn't care. But he was so tired. The surgery, being knocked out, the healing, and now, this…it took a toll. The world faded as Simon drifted off into a warm, pleasant slumber.

Mal continued to kiss the soft skin of Simon's neck for a moment even when he felt the boy's body completely relax in unconsciousness. But a slight unevenness in the skin caused him to pause. That wasn't right. Simon's skin was smooth. Mal pulled back and saw faint white lines arcing across the muscles where the neck joined at the shoulder. They were so faint that he could barely see them from only inches away, but he knew what they were; bite marks. Bite marks from where Cain had chewed at Simon while he raped him.

Mal sat up abruptly, letting go of Simon. It was probably a good thing that Simon was not awake to see the look on his face. Tamade, what was wrong with him!? Simon had been tortured and raped not three weeks past, and here he was messin' with him.

Even if he hadn't been raped, Mal had decided long ago that he couldn't be with the boy; Simon was much too vulnerable, relied far too heavily on Mal for that. He could never be sure that Simon would be with him because he wanted to, not because he was afraid of being abandoned. Yeah, Mal leaned towards women, but he'd noticed that pretty face the moment Simon stepped aboard _Serenity_. Didn't mean he'd do anything about it. At least, that was the plan. It had helped that the boy had managed to get on his nerves from minute one.

So much for Mal's sense of nobility. Gorramit! Even now the pale skin of Simon's neck was bruising a bit and the mess in his pants was drying. Cursing quietly, Mal cleaned himself off as well as he could and did the same for Simon. He worried a bit that Simon didn't even wake up at that, but figured the boy had to be exhausted. He'd not only taken advantage of a traumatized, vulnerable boy—and Simon was a boy to his mind, only twenty three no matter how old he tried to act—he'd done it when the boy was too tired to think straight. _Tamade_!

* * *

_Tam Family Manor—_

Regan Tam gritted her teeth to hold back a scream of sheer frustration. The creature that had been her husband had become more and more demanding. First he merely wanted a different 'lover' for every night of the week—discretely, of course. Not an easy thing, but doable for someone of Regan's intelligence. But he'd become more and more specific in his taste, and sometimes asked for two or three. And, to make matters worse, many of the whores she brought him never returned. She'd had to change hunting districts three times because the remaining whores had become leery of her.

First anyone attractive would do him, but then he began requiring men only. Then he wanted them in their early twenties or late teens. Dark haired. Blue eyes. Pale skin. It had chilled Regan to the bone to realize he was looking for Simon's doppelganger. Simon may not have been her real child, but she did raise him and there was some affection there. Now his 'request' for tonight. He wanted two 'companions', one male, one female. Both had to have dark hair and pale skin, and he preferred the male to have blue eyes and the female to have brown. Like Simon and River.

Gods, how had her life come to this? She had thought she was tough enough, pragmatic enough to put her feelings aside when it came to matters like this, but fear and guilt and shame were eating her up. She'd lost weight and was beginning to look haggard. The peers of the ton were whispering that it was her frailty beginning to show.

What could she do? Who could she tell? 'Gabriel' was right, no one would believe her. The fact that they'd spread about that Simon was gone because of a nervous breakdown would only spur others to believe that she was going mad as well. She could only continue to try and keep the creature happy for as long as she could.

She approached the den, where the creature had made its haven along with those two creepy, emotionless grunts, D'Mar and Anteel. She would need to get him to allow her more access to the family accounts if he wanted such specific entertainment. A murmur of voices behind the burnished hardwood door told him they were in there.

Just as she set about pushing the heavy door open, she hear 'Gabriel's' voice raised in triumph.

"I've found him! He used his power again, there can be no doubt. D'Mar, Anteel, have you agents go to these coordinates as quickly as possible. We'll soon have the Starlings."

For the first time, Regan felt deep sorrow for the children she'd helped bring into the verse.

* * *

_Onboard Serenity—_

Asteroid belts were more dangerous than the layman could ever guess. It wasn't just that the masses of heavy rock and mineral moved even as a ship flew through them; it was that there was no way to guess what kind of gravity they'd have until you were close to them. Sometimes too close. You see, most asteroids had very little gravity, but every now and then one was made of denser stuff—quite literally. These denser asteroids could pack quite a punch, and they looked just like their fellows. They could be any size, anywhere. The only way to guess, and this took more than a bit of genius to do, was by paying attention to how less dense asteroids would group around the denser ones. This little technique was not taught in any flight school, but Wash's piloting skills were such that he'd surpassed flight school doggerel many years ago.

They'd hoped that the Reavers, hampered by a larger ship and lacking Wash as a pilot, would quickly succumb to the dangers of the belt. But an hour into it, and the Reavers were still following. They'd been hit, badly, but were dogged in their pursuit. Wash and Zoe were quickly running out of ideas.

River hadn't. She knew exactly what she needed to do. She'd just been waiting for the right moment. This was that moment. She opened the door to Jayne's bunk and threw down one of his weights, waking him with a loud crash. It seemed odd after all that had happened that not even a full night had passed. Oh, well. It was time to wake Jayne.

Jayne responded to the 'crazy' tossing a heavy weight into the room and waking him up as expected—he began cussing, shouting, and threatening to do harm. Inara and Zoe were momentarily drawn from the bridge by the noise. They began trying to calm Jayne down—Inara through her gentle manner, and Zoe by telling him to shut up. When he heard the word Reavers, though, he just got louder.

River creeped onto the bridge and snuck up right behind Wash. Reaching out one delicate little hand, she pinched the nerve at the join of his neck and shoulder and he passed out quietly (1). She then picked his body up in a fireman's carry—it was amazing how strong her frail-looking little body truly was—and quickly dumped him on the landing just outside of the bridge. The movement caught Zoe's attention, but it was two late. Before the first mate could reach her, she'd closed and locked the hatch to the bridge. She met Zoe's angry gaze calmly through the little hatch window.

"I'm sorry," she told her, "but timing is everything."

* * *

_Aboard the Peregrine, Alliance stealth vessel—_

The small, sleek black ship raced through space like a hot knife cutting through melted butter. Her only crew was two remarkably unremarkable men. They had the pasty complexion and look of cubicle jockeys, even if their suits were just a bit nicer. The only thing notable about them was their hands. On their hands they wore powder blue rubber gloves.

They two men moved with an efficient economy that allowed them to achieve maximum results for minimum effort. It was almost a dance between them as each played their own part and piloted the shuttle in perfect, eerie tandem.

Just over an hour ago they'd received word that their prey was nearby, and had swiftly moved to intercept him—Simon Tam. Failure was not an option.

The man on the left gave a small, cold smile. "Two by two.." he said in a singsong tone.

"…Hands of blue," finished his partner.

_Aboard the _Dolphin_—_

Kaylee's first instinct when she heard they were being attacked by Reavers was to turn into a gibbering, crying mess. But then, she expected that was near everyone's first instinct. Sometimes she had the time to just git real quiet and hardly move, like an animal hoping whatever was huntin' it would just pass on by. But she couldn't do that this time.

This time she couldn't just stand around bein' scared or worried, even when she saw the little shuttle carrying two of the people she cared about most in the verse shot so's they was dead in the water; when her home and the rest of her family sped off into the black leadin' the Reavers away; when that tossed the little shuttle off into a spin and left her floatin' away, while she was so crippled she couldn't do nothin' about it. This time, she had work to do.

_Dolphin_'d been hit, too. Not as bad as the shuttle, but enough to put her already hurt engines offline. And the ship's engineer had decided he _could_ take the time to become a gibbering mess and had gone nearly hysterical. With the injuries—little Georgie was the engineer's assistant—that left just Kaylee to work on the engine, with the assistance of Shepherd Book, luckily.

In a way, the work was a blessin' for Kaylee. She always felt calm and centered when workin', and it helped her keep her fear from getting' the better of her. She could just focus on getting the _Dolphin _runnin' again, and that was all she had to worry about at the moment. Couldn't do nobody any good 'til then, anyways.

A couple hours of work, and the engines were able to move the ship again. It weren't a perfect job, but it'd get them to goin', hopefully before the Reavers returned. They could just get the Cap'n and Simon, then they'd be off on there merry to meet Serenity. She had to believe it.

Kaylee stepped back from the engine where she'd been workin' like a madwoman to realize she had a small audience. She'd long ago gotten past the part where Book could help and had been workin' on the final adjustments for a good long while now, and she'd been so focused she hadn't heart Monty walk into the room, or his quiet conversation with Book.

"Kaylee."

"Hey there, Monty. The engine's workin' again. Ain't pretty, but she'll get us movin'. Might even be able to do full burn for a couple minutes."

"That's great news, lil' Kaylee, great news."

Kaylee knew there was somethin' wrong in the way Monty'd said it, like he weren't really happy. Like somethin' had happened.

"What's goin' on?"

"We've been contacted by _Serenity_, Kaylee. Told to meet them in Persephone."

Book's voice always had a calmin' effect on Kaylee, but she knew she was still missin' somethin' here.

"That sounds great—so's why do you still look like somethin's the matter?"

"They want us to go straight there. They said they'd get the shuttle."

"But we's right here, it'd be quicker for us…"

"It was an order, Kaylee. They used one of Mal's old codes from the war."

"Why'd they…"

"To show us it was Mal's plan. We only got a written order, didn't actually talk to no one."

"That don't sound right."

"That's what we thought. But it was one of Mal's old codes, for sure. No one would know 'em that didn't fight with him. We're gonna do what they says. We're gonna trust Mal has a plan."

"It still don't seem right."

* * *

_Aboard the Shuttle—_

Simon woke up cold on one side and warm on the other. He was cuddled next to Mal and able to absorb some of his delicious body heat, but his back, turned towards the front of the little shuttle and away from the Captain, felt frozen. There had been a decided drop in temperature since he'd fallen asleep.

The air felt thin, as well. The little cabin of the shuttle could only hold so much oxygen, and even with just two of them, they'd burn it up at a quick rate. Quick to be counting down to your last breath. At this point it was a three way race between suffocation, hypothermia, and, optimistically, rescue. Simon didn't even want to consider the return of the Reavers.

Simon muffled a yawn and blinked his eyes. In the cold blue glow of the emergency lights—why was it that emergency lights always seemed to outlast emergency heat or emergency air? Who care if you can see if you can't breath?—he saw Mal looking down at him. There was something almost tender in the man's gaze. Simon melted a little inside. Then he froze again because it was so…rutting…cold. He shivered then snuggled closer to Mal.

He froze, worried at his own impertinence, but Mal simply tightened his hold and hugged Simon close. Simon looked up and met the Captain's gaze. There wasn't much to say. It looked like they were going to die here together.

There would be no last minute love confessions, because Simon didn't think he_ loved _Mal. There was obviously attraction there—and respect, and affection. But love? More the potential for love, than the thing itself. And it was new. Simon hadn't been hiding a crush or anything. At least, he didn't think he had. Relationships were something Simon thought about a great deal, truth be told.

Mal wasn't harboring any deep-seated love at first sight, either. Lust at first sight, maybe. But the dark, unhealthy lust one feels for someone you want to fuck but don't want to like. A great deal of affection, built up slowly over time without Mal even noticin'. Affection for the little things, like the way Simon's hands fluttered around like little birds when he was nervous; the boy's spunk, even when he was scared—no, especially when he was scared; the way the only thing that seemed to really frighten the boy was when his sister was threatened. The strands of dark, shiny hair that fell over his eyes. The smooth, pale skin. The blue, blue eyes. All-in-all, Mal thought that there were worse people to die with.

A bit of movement caught Mal's eye and he turned to face it out the small window in the shuttle cab. It was a ship, but not one he'd ever seen before. It was small and shaped almost like a horseshoe—what he could see of it, anyway. It was made of some kind of dark metal alloy that almost seemed to absorb light and gave it a sinister cast. It was sleek and new and undoubtedly Alliance.

"Sonofabitch…" Mal breathed.

Simon followed Mal's gaze over his shoulder and was perplexed at the strange ship he saw. But horror dawned on him as he realized that it was Alliance and he felt a new chill of fear trickle down his spine.

Mal wanted to sit up, put his shirt back on, and grab his gun. But it was too late; too cold. He could see ice crystals forming on the console and the walls of the shuttle. It was a beautiful, twinkling eerie blue in the emergency lights, but deadly cold. If he or Simon had been in here alone, with no one to share body heat, they'd have likely frozen by now. As it was, there was a decidedly ashen tone to Simon's pale skin, which was even paler than usual, and a bluish cast to his lips. There was a bluish cast to all of him, truth be told, from the lights, and he looked ephemeral. But the shivering Mal felt in the smaller body clutched to him was worrisome.

"C-Captain?" Simon didn't know what to do, but Mal had to have a plan. He always had a plan. But all the answer Simon received to the question was a worried look. He transferred his gaze back to the window.

The ship was looming closer, looking for the best way to dock with the shuttle. It was a delicate process because the shuttle was still tumbling, with no way to stop. Inertia would keep the shuttle in its little spin until something else stopped it. The ship had to mimic that tumble to get close enough to dock, then it could stop the shuttle. The difficulty of the maneuver bought them a bit of time, but not much. And there was nothing they could do in that time, anyway, except move that much closer to freezing to death.

The silence was oppressive. All Simon could hear was Mal's steady breathing and his own quiet breath. If not for that, Simon would almost wonder if he'd gone deaf.

In the Silence they watched the ship prepare to dock. They watched the ship come closer and closer. They watched as an older ship, less sleek but still beautiful in her own way, their own _Serenity,_ flew by the Alliance ship close enough to almost sideswipe her. They watched as the monstrous amalgamation that made up the Reaver ship followed close behind, and it _did_ sideswipe the Alliance ship. They watched as the Reaver ship and the Alliance ship moved off. They saw the Reaver ship shoot its EMP, and the Alliance ship dodge. They saw the Alliance ship shoot a slim, dark red beam out from one of the tips of the 'horseshoe'. The beam cut through a bit of the Reaver ship with ease, leaving behind explosions and damage. Then the shuttle continued on its tumble and they saw no more.

But the silence was swept away by a clanging and there was a jolt to the shuttle at the unmistakable feel of a ship docking with them. Mal breathed a sigh of relief as he recognized the curve of the hull looming out before them. It was _Serenity_. There was a moment of vertigo as _Serenity_ brought the shuttle out of its spin and turned.

As the ship turned, the battle came back into view. The Reaver ship was badly damaged. It sported wounds all over its grotesque hull and explosions blossomed here and there. The Alliance ship did not show its wounds much because of the darkness of its material, but it seemed to hang haphazardly and there was undoubtedly a good bit of damage there, too. Even as they watched, the Reaver ship managed to hit them full on with the EMP. The Reaver ship began to close with the Alliance ship, preparing to board. Mal and Simon watched with baited breath.

When the Reaver ship was about to dock with the Alliance ship, the smaller ship…pulsed. It was an odd sort of energy output. Then it pulsed again, and again, in closer succession. Finally, it exploded. The explosion was so hot it burned white, then blue, searing their retinas. A smaller explosion within the larger indicated the destruction of the Reaver ship. Then it stopped.

It was so sudden it felt as if they'd gone blind. But their eyes adjusted and they saw a few burning bits of wreckage that was all that was left of the other ships. Simon shuddered in Mal's arms.

_Serenity_ turned a bit more, picked up speed, and soared away to safety.

* * *

_Tam Family Manor, Osiris—_

The creature that was Gabriel Tam watched Their underlings control the blue-handed operatives about to retrieve their son. D'Mar and Anteel had their eyes closed in concentration as they focused the telepathic link with their underlings, to better view the capture through said underlings own eyes.

"They're closing on a shuttle. It looks to be out of power," intoned D'Mar emotionlessly.

The Gabriel creature smiled in unholy glee.

"Docking in 5….4….3…."

"Another ship is interfering. Firefly class," Anteel interrupted D'Mar. "Another is close behind. Class indeterminate. Reavers."

"What?!" the creature asked, rage in Their voice.

"The Reavers are engaging. Agents are retaliating." D'Mar, again.

A blow-by-blow depiction of the battle had the creature gritting Their teeth in frustration. So close, and yet so far!

"The firefly has docked with the shuttle and is preparing for full burn."

"EMP has hit the ship. Self destruct is required." D'Mar opened his eyes and met Gabriel's gaze for a moment, before lowering his eyes to the floor. "I apologize, sir."

But D'Mar's apology was drowned out by Anteel's agonized cry. Gabriel looked at the other man and saw his whole body contorted rigidly in pain. Blood dribbled from his nose and the corner of his mouth. His back arced a seeming impossible curve and his whole body shuddered once. Then he collapsed like a marionette with the strings cut.

"He was unable to sever the connection." D'Mar spoke in his usual monotone. He seemed unperturbed by Anteel's collapse.

The creature was not surprised; They did not choose their followers based on sentimentality. The creature knew, like D'Mar, that Anteel's body survived, but his mind had not. The body collapsed on his den floor was little more than a living corpse. While it was a bother, for he'd have to choose and train a new follower, the pain Anteel had gone through helped soothe the creature's temper. At least someone had paid for Their disappointment.

"Report everything you know about that firefly."

* * *

_Onboard Serenity—_

The aftermath of the battle was anticlimactic. Mal managed to shove both of them into their shirts before the shuttle door opened and then they were surrounded by the crew. Wash and Zoe and Inara and Jayne bundled around them. Mal had been confused by Wash's presence and asked who was flying the ship, but Simon knew. River. By her absence he knew it was her on the bridge, piloting.

The others quickly explained that she'd rendered Wash unconscious and locked herself in on the bridge. It had been her brilliant piloting that led the Reavers back to the shuttle at just the right time for them to face the Alliance vessel. She'd been the one who had docked with the shuttle and pulled Serenity far enough away from the battle that they'd not get caught in the explosion. Wash had been unconscious for most of it. But he swore he'd woken up feeling better than ever.

Wash seemed to be taking getting knocked out with his usual good humor. He joked about getting River to knock him out more often. Zoe hadn't thought it so funny. Simon could see that gleam in her eye that said River may not have hurt Wash this time, but she could have. Zoe liked River, Simon knew, but she'd kill the girl before letting her hurt Wash.

Inara had her companion's face on. Simon worried that she'd read what happened between him and Mal at a glance—companions were trained to do just that—but it wasn't something to be dealt with now. She was graceful and elegant and seemed to take everything in stride. There was no way of telling what she was really thinking or feeling.

Jayne was caught up in the Reaver-survival-euphoria. While Simon was sure that in any other circumstances the big man would be complaining about 'Crazy' flying the ship, for the moment he was too relieved to begrudge her he pilot's seat—or anything else, for that matter.

The welcome of the crew was cut short by Mal's insistence that he get to the bridge as fast as possible. He was disturbed not only by River's presence on the bridge, but by the fact that two of his crew were missing. When he asked about the _Dolphin_, all Zoe could tell him was that it wasn't where they'd left it.

When Simon had stood, he'd felt the room spin. The nap he'd had had done little to ease his exhaustion, and he knew he'd crash before long. But he also knew that he _had _to be there when Mal confronted River. So he'd followed the crew up to the bridge, leaning heavily on the walls. He was thankful that they were all too preoccupied to notice how much trouble he was having—and a little hurt that Mal didn't even glance at him.

When they reached the bridge, they found the door open once again and River waiting for them, looking heartbreakingly young. One foot was hooked behind the other ankle and she peeked up at them from underneath her long, tangled fall of hair. She'd been positively meek as she informed them that she'd set course for Persephone, where she'd arranged to meet the _Dolphin_.

Mal had lectured her, but he'd softened quite a bit and the lecture held little heat. Wash had forgiven her whole-heartedly and been touched when she'd given him a grateful hug in return. Zoe had been more reserved, but River respected that. And Jayne had given her a hearty slap on the back and congratulated her on her flying skills. Simon wasn't sure which was more disconcerting—Jayne complimenting River, or the fact that the slap—which would have knocked Simon down, even at the best of times—barely swayed the slender girl.

After she'd greeted the others, she walked over to Simon and gave him a careful, warm hug. He had been confused at the words she'd whispered in his ear—_you got to stretch your wings again—_but happy that she was well. Then she'd embarrassed him and dumbfounded the others by announcing that he needed to go to bed.

It was then that the others noticed how unsteady on his feet he was, and how pale (even for him). He'd tried to insist he was fine, but had been easily ignored and overruled. At Mal's command, Jayne was to take him to the infirmary where Zoe could look him over. Which was just ridiculous. He was merely tired, and more than capable of taking himself to his bunk to sleep it off. But his gentle voice drowned out under the firm command of Mal's.

Buoyed by his good mood, Jayne didn't even complain. He simply picked Simon up bridal style and started caring him down to the infirmary. Simon had protested, but was no match for the big man's strength, particularly as tired as he was. To his further humiliation, the mercenary took the dumbfounding opportunity to leer down at him—Jayne didn't even like him, so why look at him like a particularly tasty steak?—and his hands 'accidentally' brushed Simon's posterior in the process of setting him down.

Much to Simon's relief, Zoe took pity on him and pronounced him fine save for simple exhaustion, and he was left alone with River in the dimmed infirmary to rest. Having his sister watch protectively over him was comforting and he slept well.

He woke just in time to make himself presentable before _Serenity_ docked at Persephone. It was during that lull—the last hour as Wash guided them through the atmosphere, with Zoe at his side; Jayne prepared his guns and River was off playing whatever game had caught her most recent fancy; Simon had a quick sponge bath before an even quicker change—that Mal came to see him.

He'd just changed clothes and reveled in feeling at least somewhat clean for the first time in what felt like forever. It was amazing how much a person could change. When Simon had first come aboard _Serenity_, he'd been horrified when he realized that sponge baths were the main form of cleanliness in space. It made sense—clean, fresh water was at a premium and facilities to cleanse and maintain a water supply were costly—but it was abhorrent to his sense of hygiene. Inara had helped with that, by teaching him what oils helped clean and care for skin, so that he was not reliant on mere soap and the ever-dwindling water supply. It had still taken him a month to get used to hair washed once a week. Surprisingly, his scalp had adapted. While he'd felt greasy and unclean that first month, oil production in his scalp had decreased and, after a while, it needed cleaning far less. (2)

So Simon was clean and dressed in fresh clothes—a layer of undershirt, tee-shirt, and sweater, since he could never seem to get warm, on top of softly faded cargo pants—when Mal appeared in his doorway. Just seeing the Captain made his heart jump in excitement and his blood pump just a bit warmer. He smiled shyly at the man.

Mal felt his heart constrict at the sight of that oh-so-rare smile—his pants, too, looked like. But he'd made his decision. The best decision for himself, for Simon—hell, for the whole gorram crew. He couldn't let his heart or this cock do his thinkin' for him. Still, that smile did light up the boy's face so, and his expressive eyes looked less sad for once.

"Captain," Simon's greeting was a bit hesitant, a bit eager.

"Simon," Mal kept his face serious, trying to be professional. "Seems to me that the two of us need to have a little talk."

"A-alright." Simon sat on his bed and looked up attentively, which did nothing at all for the tightness of Mal's pants. But the affection in those eyes did. Mal knew he was about to upset the Doc, maybe even hurt him. That killed his libido pretty quick. Mal didn't ever want to see those eyes looking so sad as was their wont, but he _knew_ he'd made the right decision.

"Simon, what happened on that shuttle," Simon waited with baited breath, "was a mistake." Simon's heart seemed to freeze in his chest.

"O-oh."

"It shouldn't of happened. See, its like this. I don't like fraternization among crew in the first place. It divides loyalties, hurts feelin's….But as Captain, I _can't_ fraternize. It'd be…wrong. We have to just forget what happened in that shuttle and move on. Dong ma?"

"Dong ma," Simon murmured. It hadn't meant anything to Mal. It had been a mistake. He carefully kept his face blank—he couldn't show how much it hurt.

"Good. Well, I'm glad that's settled then. We'll be dockin' soon, so come along. Kaylee'll be glad to see you." It was all Simon could do not to flinch at that last. It was bad enough the Captain didn't want him, but did the man have to try and push him at Kaylee?

Mal regretted that it had ever happened, that he had to see that light in Simon's eyes die and that cold, impersonal mask return. But it was for the best. Really. Mal turned and left the room. He had no more time for worrying about Simon. They had people to pick up and a job to get.

Simon watched Mal walk down the corridor and held back tears. He wouldn't cry. Men didn't cry. But it _hurt_. That precious little thing he'd felt growing in his chest, the affection and liking and joy for Mal, now felt like a block of ice, leeching heat from him from the inside out.

He'd been _stupid_ to expect anything more. It had just been one of those spur of the moment things most men did all the time. Hell, Mal didn't even like men that way much. No, for the Captain it had been a moment of lust, an affirmation of life, or some such nonsense. And Simon had been there. Simon had been convenient. Simon had been _easy_.

He shored up the walls of his heart and tried to put it—the shuttle, Mal—out of his mind. Mal was right, in a way. Kaylee would be happy to see him. And if he couldn't love her in the way she wanted, she was still a good friend. And River needed him, and someone might be injured soon. Life went on. Life always went on. Simon would, too.

* * *

_Epilogue—_

_The Boy Bird Dreamed._

_He huddled in his little nest and shivered. He was cold, so cold. He wanted to wail. His fledgling feathers did little to keep him warm. What he really wanted was the Warm Man._

_But the Warm Man didn't want him back. Awake, the Boy Bird was too dignified to give into his grief, but here he was just himself. He sniffled and cried out in a mournful tone. _

_His distressed cries did not go unnoticed. Before long a figure stood at his door—the Broken Bird. She was not quite so broken, now. Her wings were still a riot of color, but there was now beauty in the chaos. They shone. The bloodstains were almost gone—her wings had not been hurt again. She looked fragile, but he knew there was very real strength there. He met her eyes and saw compassion._

_Before long, the Broken Bird was snuggled up next to him, her wings wrapped around him, warming him from the inside out. He let her comfort him as he had comforted her so many times before, and she blossomed with his trust.

* * *

_

1)Yeah, that's the Vulcan neck pinch.

2)I read somewhere that human hair is as oily as it is because we wash it so often. That plays hell with its natural ability to regulate oil production, and it our scalps produce too much. I also read that after about three weeks of not being washed, it will regulate itself and then it won't need to be washed so much. Don't know if its true, but it sounds believable.


End file.
